Solace
by Umeko
Summary: Why did D'Eon choose to continue wearing a dress? That and other insights into the various characters of this anime.
1. D'Eon

Disclaimer: The characters of Le Chevalier D'Eon do not belong to me. May contain spoilers for the anime.

One thing I believe any fan of this anime is bugged by is why the hell D'Eon chose to live out his life as a woman at the end. I mean, he could have easily changed his name, lived as a man in England or anywhere else outside France. This is a little peek into what may have been his motivation in taking on his sister's identity.

High angst warning, I may consider doing similar pieces for the others and turn this into a series.

This is inspired by the scene where D'Eon and the former Queen of England are looking at the sea.

**D'Eon: Sunset Solace**

_My bonnie lies over the ocean, my bonnie lies over the sea;  
__My bonnie lies over the ocean, please bring back my bonnie to me_

"You and Lia are not like us. Your souls did not merge like ours have done. You could move on, you know." The knitting needles in my companion's hands click away, starting a new shawl. "Lia's soul is at peace… you have to let go."

I only smile and shake my head. It is not that simple. "How's France? You have been quiet since you returned yesterday," she changes the topic, sensing my discomfort. "France has changed so much that I do not recognize her," I reply, settling myself into the empty chair next to her. I gaze at the beautiful vista before us. A scattering of ships are bobbing on a calm sea, hailing from ports far and wide. I wonder how many are French. "An old friend of mine died on the guillotine…"

"Was it that red-haired page-boy who was with you then? We're so sorry…" she takes my hand in hers, offering me whatever meagre comfort she can.

There was no need to be. Robin's as sharp as a tack. He probably knew what he was getting into when he started down that path. "How's George?" I ask after her husband. She shakes her head sadly. "He is not well. The doctors fear the worst. My, it is getting a little cold out here…" she rises to her feet slowly and keeps her knitting. The years have added grey strands to the brown of her hair despite her attempts to dye it back to youthful brown. Her movements are slower now, though as graceful as ever. _If Lia had lived, would she have aged as gracefully as her friend? Would she have married, borne children and knitted shawls for their babies? _

We're no longer young. The cold winds blowing off the sea wreck havoc with our bones. Still, I have no desire to sit indoors by the fireside.

"I'll like to stay a while longer…" Understanding my wish to be alone, she smiles and glides regally indoors. I am left with my thoughts.

So why did I, baptised D'Eon de Beaumont, a former member of the Secret du Roi, continue to wear skirts and live as a woman? I cannot answer that myself. D'Eon de Beaumont is dead. King Louis XV announced my death so many years ago. I might have used my late sister's identity to flee France then, yet I continued to dress as a woman in England where I am a guest under the roof of the former Queen Mary and her sister.

When I first turned up at her doorstep so many years ago, with only the worn-out, threadbare dress I was standing in to my name, she had taken me aside and said to me. "D'Eon, you are still a young man. You have to consider your future…"

She also gave me a sword that day. "You're a knight. You should not be without a sword." She loaned me some money so that I might purchase some new clothes. I went to the tailor's but returned with two dresses and a shawl from the dressmaker. When I returned in my new dress, she did not say anything. Queen Mary and her sister both understood. I then applied for the post of French tutor to her royal brood. I tutored her children, several nieces and nephews in the French language. They all called me Mademoiselle Lia. I put away that sword. My old master Teillagory would be mortified by the amount of dust that had collected on it in the depths of my clothes trunk.

I take out the silver pocket watch that was once Durand's. It still bears a bit of dried blood on it that might have been Robin's. Durand had an attachment to the old thing although it was broken. I was surprised Robin had kept it all this time although he had cast aside all other vestiges of his past identity to take on Maximilien's mantle. I had picked it up from the cobblestones after it had fallen from Robin's pocket as he was marched up to the guillotine. At least his death was mercifully swift.

"_Maximilien…"_ Lia had pleaded as she lay dying in her own blood. God knows how long she lay there before her lover finally found her. I pray my beloved Anna did not suffer as she did.

The burning desire to find that truth behind Lia's death, was it my own or Lia's soul guiding me towards the truth? I could not be sure even now. Lia's soul had been with me for those months as we sought out the truth. I had been one with her, sharing her emotions, her memories… I understood her torment, the pain and rage her soul was seared by. It would be selfish not to let her rest in peace. Yet at the moment I put the torch to her funeral pyre, I was struck by a profound sense of loss. That night I severed the last link that held her soul from its rest. With my own hands, I burned that link. From the moment forth, I was truly alone. I still could not let go. _Letting go is too difficult._

If I had been a stronger person, I would have continued with my life in England as a man. It would be easy to seek employment as a scribe or mercenary soldier. I could even have travelled across the ocean to seek my fortune in the New World. The truth is: D'Eon de Beaumont is nothing without his sister. Even as a child, I was always hiding behind my sister. Lia was the better swordswoman, the smarter one. I would have given up the sword a long time ago if Lia had not insisted on dragging me to Master Teillagory's every other day as a sparring partner.

If it weren't for Lia, I would have probably wound up a lacklustre soldier or a nondescript clerk. I would not have met Robin or Durand if weren't for Lia's death. Well, I might have met Robin since I did call on Anna at the palace but our relationship would probably be limited to casual acquaintance. I could have lived out my life in France and died without taking one step into the world beyond Paris and Versailles. I would never have travelled to Russia or England. I would never have met Empresses Elizaveta and Ekaterina or Queen Mary.

The first time I wore a dress, it was to connect with Lia's soul on Queen Marie's instructions. I had no memory of what happened then when Lia took possession of me. The second time was at Empress Elizaveta's masquerade ball. That time she did not awake. The third time was at the French embassy in London. I was aware of Lia using a poem to save Robin in the room above our heads. Afterwards, I did not change out of it immediately, choosing to sit a while in my room, thinking of her, the glimpses of her memories and what had happened. I felt her agony when Maximilien died.

We were unable to save Durand. We felt him die on the sword we wielded. Master Teillagory chose death in the end, throwing himself between Robin's gun and the Duke of Orleans. Robin did not recognize me when our paths cross that final fatal time. The round blue eyes I recalled were drained of all life. His imprisonment had taken a toll on him, leaving only a shadow behind. D'Eon, Lia… We had tried to stop him then, but he had chosen to run off into the night with that damned book. We lost him in that instant when our paths diverged.

I know Lia is at peace. I have not felt her soul since that night. No matter how many times I don a dress, I no longer feel her. No matter how often I look into the mirror, I only see myself. In my younger days, I favoured the bold reds and bright violets Lia so loved. As the years passed, my wardrobe faded into soft teals and dull greys. Each passing day adds more white hairs to my head and lines to my face. I am no longer a young man.

I had gone back to France, hoping to see again the land of my birth. I was disappointed. Paris was overrun by the worst rabble. The lovely manor house where Lia and I were born and raised had been gutted by fire. Only the charred shell remained. Versailles had long been abandoned by the remaining royals. The palace grounds were overgrown. The grand marble fountain was dry and cracked. I realised in that moment that I was nothing but a nostalgic old man clinging onto a faded past.

_Oh blow ye winds over the ocean, oh blow ye winds over the sea;  
__Oh blow ye winds over the ocean, please bring back my bonnie to me…_

The sunset slowly paints the sea a blazing gold. I cast my eyes across in the direction of France, searching, _searching for what?_ I have been searching for an answer all these years but have found none.

I pull my shawl tighter around myself. It is getting even colder. I hear Mary calling from within. Dinner is waiting. Finally I relent.

"Coming." I turn my back on the sunset sea. Perhaps someday, I will find my answer. I will put aside my dresses for a man's breeches. I will step out into the world again as a man named D'Eon de Beaumont. Till then, I will continue walking into the sunset of my life in skirts and bearing the name of my dead sister.

**Author's Notes:**

Tissues anyone? I struck me that maybe the whole reason why he wears a dress to the end is because he can't let go of what happened, especially his sister.

Outake:

D'Eon: I sound like a loser…

Lia: Well, I hate to admit it, but you always were clingy as a child…

D'Eon: Sis!


	2. Durand

Disclaimer: The characters of Le Chevalier D'Eon do not belong to me. May contain spoilers for the anime.

Ever wondered if Durand knew what he was headed for when he took off with the Psalms? Or why he met up with his comrades later in the church after he had apparently decided to return to France alone? This one is inspired by the scene where Durand's soul walks off into the light after his death.

**Durand: A Game of ****Patience**

_Rock of Ages, cleft for me,  
Let me hide myself in Thee;  
Let the water and the blood,  
From Thy riven side which flowed,  
Be of sin the double cure,  
Save me from its guilt and power._

The footsteps faded down the narrow alley as my pursuers took off in the opposite direction. My breath comes in ragged gasps. My muscles are protesting. I have to admit that they had reason to. I had not allowed my body to recover from its injuries before setting off for that battle at Medmenham Abbey. I chose to run off while most of my comrades were slumbering off the weariness of the battle. With my one arm, I tighten my grip on the damned book. I fumble trying to tuck it into my coat pocket. I need my arm free if I am to fight. This is going to take some getting used to.

From the time I was freed, I could sense their concern for my well-being. Thanks to the Psalms, the wound had sealed faster than it should. Still, my fighting prowess had indeed suffered with the loss of my left arm. I might have been a liability then at the abbey. I let Lia and D'Eon walk into danger. It is odd to be using only one sword when I am used to fighting with two blades.

There is that other thing…. I reach into my shirt and touch the accursed letters on my chest. NQM. Maximilien's parting gift to me. He should have let me bleed to death then. At least I wouldn't have had to deal with the royal orders. Let the king's poem go to hell. Robin's still a kid, barely older than my youngest sister back home in France. And D'Eon, Lia's little brother. He has his entire life ahead of him, assuming he would live that long. He's incredibly naïve and clueless to the ways of the world. I owe the old master an apology. It was a dirty trick I pulled on him with that handful of sand. I would have never gotten past him otherwise, even if I had both my arms.

I grinned at the thought of those incriminating documents I have secreted behind de Guercy's painting in the embassy. _C'est la vie, mon ami. _I'll love to see the look on his face when the English soldiers find them. The letter I had left with the lawyer will be opened soon, once I fail to return. I have no inclination or desire of going back to that prison. Till then, my friends will have to lie low and avoid capture. That is the pinch. Teillagory's a wily old fox, assuming I didn't hurt him too badly back there. I expect Robin to be frantic with worry over my disappearance. He should use his worry for himself. D'Eon's the wild card of the pack. There's no telling when or how Lia's soul would react. It was to my relief that that little trick with the whistle was enough to throw the soldiers off their trail earlier. I hope they had found somewhere safe.

Lia. She was always calm and controlled in life. It was out of her character to simply snap and lash out blindly as she did at the bridge to Medmenham. I have never known her to show such rage. Her soul must indeed be in torment, foully murdered and trapped in an unnatural limbo in her brother's body. I pray for peace for her soul every night since her body was discovered. Now I know the only way for her to find eternal rest is to find out the truth.

We were happy then, the three of us, Lia, Maximilien and me. We were all loyal knights of France. It seemed almost another lifetime ago. _When did it all start unravelling?_

We were sent on our separate missions for the good of France. When I got back from Marseilles, Maximilien vanished and turned his back on France. Lia was murdered and floated down the Seine in a casket in a grotesque travesty of that Arthurian poem she so loved, _the Lady of Shalott_. Could Maximilien have killed her? I refuse to believe that but I cannot be sure. I thought I knew them. Now I know I knew nothing.

Maximilien had changed the most. He was still as calm as ever, but there is a merciless edge to his calmness that was never there before. Perhaps I had been mistaken from the start. It was nasty shock running into him in Russia. I believe he was involved in the Empress' death. We met at the French embassy just now. Gave me quite a turn to see a 'dead' man walking. Lia had sensed his death but…

I can't think. The mark is burning again.

"_Louis will have you killed!" _Maximilien had shouted at my back. He had asked me to join him, turn my back on France and my comrades of the past months. I snubbed his offer. I have never seen him so riled up before. Perhaps Maximilien will have me killed instead and save the king the hassle. If he does, I pray that it will be quick and my comrades will be left in peace. Hearing the approach of soldiers, I ran through the gates of a churchyard. I need somewhere to hide and fast. There should be a crypt or two I can shelter in for a bit.

_While I draw this fleeting breath,_

_When my eyes shall close in death,_

The crypts are sealed with heavy locks to guard against grave robbers. I drag my weary body up the gravel path to the porch of the dark church. I haven't slept a wink for almost two days, keeping on the move constantly to throw off our pursuers. Only a few more hours to go before my little confession is read and de Guercy receives the morning call of his life. It's only a matter of waiting.

I can't continue further. My body has reached its limits. I flop down on the church porch with my back against the door. I am surprised to hear voices echoing from within at this late hour. They are speaking French.

"But we can't leave Sir Durand," Robin protests. _God bless you, lad. Good for a cynical heart to know someone cares._

"The soldiers are after us. We have to leave England. Durand will have to take care of himself…" the speaker ends with a small groan of pain. Old Teillagory. _Sorry about your stomach, old chap._ You could just pack them onto the next ship out. Hopefully it will be headed for Russia. Empress Ekaterina shouldn't mind putting you lot up till things blow over in Versailles.

"Durand has the Psalms, we can't go back without them," D'Eon's voice cut in. I grab at my chest. The letters are aching as if they are being branded into my flesh. For fleeting moment, I see Maximilien's smiling face as he leans over me that night in the prison cell, his hand clasped on the shredded remnants of my shoulder, using the Psalms to stop the bleeding. He carved those letters into my flesh in that same instant.

"That must be a touching poem, Durand," he mocked me later over the royal orders which had fallen onto the floor of my cell. "Was it from the king who is in God's grace?"

They all read the royal secrets I now have in my coat. I take out the book. It still does not open to me. I have been ordered to kill the three of them, D'Eon in particular. On my return, King Louis XV will have me killed on some pretext. The four of us will compare notes with Lia in purgatory and Lia will kill me over D'Eon. Maximilien will continue on whatever hellish scheme he has up his sleeve… It strikes me then. Lia had seen something or knew something about the Psalms. I must ask her or D'Eon.

"I refuse to believe Sir Durand would run off like that, unless he has a good reason…" Robin says. He sounds like he was on the verge of tears. _Oh, don't do this to me… I hate the idea of having anyone shed tears on my behalf. _

I struggle to my feet and take a deep breath. The burning sensation on my chest eases a bit. I feel strangely refreshed. They say it is darkness before the dawn. Perhaps things will work out. I can try to convince them to seek refuge somewhere while I report to Versailles. Maybe the king would spare me. The book in my hand, I shove open the church door. Three pairs of eyes immediately swing towards me.

_Rock of Ages, cleft for me,  
Let me hide myself in Thee_

**Author's Notes: **

Yes, poor guy's being set up to be turned into a gargoyle. Get the feeling Max is manipulating him to some extent.

C'est la vie, mon ami – loosely translates to 'That's life, my friend" in French. Please feel free to correct me if I'm wrong.

The Anglican hymn _'Rock of Ages'_ which I have used in part for this fic was supposedly inspired when a 18th century pastor got caught out in open country by a storm and was forced to shelter in a crack in a large rock formation until the storm blew over.

The Lady of Shalott – an Arthurian poem about a lady who is cursed never to set eyes on the legendary city of Camelot or she will die. She sees the city one day in her magical looking glass. As she is dying, she sets off down the river towards Camelot in a boat. The boat bearing her corpse floats into the city. On the bow of the boat is carved her name. See the parallels between the poem and the way Lia was found? The French loved their Arthurian romances as much as the Brits in those days. Though this actual poem was written much later during the Victorian era.

Outtake:

_D'Eon/Lia: (shaking Durand furiously)_ Don't die on me yet, Durand! You still owe me for the taxi fare to Medmenham Abbey!


	3. Teillagory

Disclaimer: The characters of Le Chevalier D'Eon do not belong to me. May contain spoilers for the anime.

Teillagory's apparent betrayal of D'Eon came as a real shock on their return to France. He later reveals that he was working for the Duke of Orleans all along and even drew his sword against his student.

**Teillagory: The Last Chevalier**

_All for one and one for all_

"It would seem that our young companion does not wish to be with us," I stroke my moustache thoughtfully as Robin silently takes his key and mounts the stairs. Durand's death has hit the page hard. We will all miss Durand's keen wit. Though tragic, his death removed one threat. At least he died with honour and his soul is at rest. Not stuck in some limbo like my poor student Lia. I glance at D'Eon. Yes, it is the brother now. Lia has no reason to surface but I am still worried. It was only with D'Eon's help that I managed to calm her spirit at the bridge at Medmenham. I don't know how she will react if she guessed…

I knew them for more than ten years. They first came under my tutelage when D'Eon was seven and Lia ten. They had since blossomed into two of the best swordfighters in all of France. I recall the first time I met the _enfant terrible_ Lia de Beaumont. It was the day after young D'Eon was bullied by an older student at his first lesson. He went home bawling. I thought that was the last I would see of him. For a noble boy there are only two paths open to him in my day, knighthood or clergy. I had D'Eon pegged for the seminary. The following morning I looked out of my window to see Lia carrying D'Eon's training rapier in one hand and dragging her little brother with the other, striding through the gate as if girdled for battle.

Whereas other girls were content with needlework, Lia wanted to be a knight. She was fearless to a fault and more than a match for any other student of mine. Madame de Beaumont wrung her hands in despair over Lia's lack of interest in embroidery and preference for running about in breeches. Heaven did her an injustice making her a woman. She rose way above her station in life as a noblewoman to become a member of the _Secret du Roi_. If she had taken the more conventional route of matrimony or the convent, would she still be alive? Lia's fiery in nature and passionately loyal to France. In death, her soul is as driven by her emotions as she was in life.

D'Eon is the calmer one. As a child, he was content to follow his sister's lead. Lia was the dominant one, D'Eon her shadow. Sometimes I think D'Eon's too hesitant for a man. He may have done well in the clergy ministering to souls, or at least boring entire congregations to death with sermons. Lia's death and the resulting mission to recover the Psalms have provided him with a goal. I have never seen him so focused before. It was as if some of Lia's fire had gone into him. He has come a long way from that boy who fled home crying on the first day of his fencing lessons. I believe he is finally coming into his own. It will be interesting to see what kind of man he will become.

"Master?" D'Eon turns towards me. The Psalms have not left his possession since we left England. "The four Musketeers are now three… and fast dropping to two…" he glances at the top of the stairs. He is right. At Medmenham, we had raised our swords together for the glory of France. That was our best moment when I felt like I did as a young knight under the previous king. Now Durand lies in a coffin in England waiting transport back home to be buried as soon as can be arranged by the embassy, which will take a while considering our esteemed envoy de Guercy is being questioned by the English authorities. Robin has treated us with hostile silence since.

_You are wrong. We never were the four musketeers, D'Eon. _

I need to send a message to inform him of our return. Sorry, D'Eon. You will have to wait a while before seeing your Anna.

* * *

"What's taking them so long?" he frets. "Patience, D'Eon. I'm sure they will have the horses ready by tomorrow," I lie to him without batting an eyelid. He falls for it and resumes his daydreaming, no doubt about a certain russet-haired lady. There is no sign of Robin in his room. He might have slipped out. Letter in hand, I approach the innkeeper.

"Master?" Robin. He looks over the rails of the stairs, his keen eyes resting on the letter in my hand. "I'm sending word to my son," I lie clumsily. My only son is long dead. "I didn't know you had another son…" Robin frowns slightly before running up the stairs. That is a close one.

* * *

"Master!" D'Eon stares at me in horror. My broken sword is resting almost at his neck. Understanding sinks in as the shock of my betrayal fades. He drops his hand away from his sword hilt and the duke's men rush in to restrain him. "Why?" he almost sobs. The duke himself arrives. I can't say he's the best man for France, not after I have witnessed true nobility in Russia in the form of Empress Elizaveta. Hell, at least the people like him… although he is nothing but a pompous popinjay compared to the likes of Elizaveta. _Weep, my poor France..._

The blow catches me off guard as much as it did D'Eon. He could've struck me instead. An ugly bruise is forming on D'Eon's cheek. A small trickle of blood flows where his lip has been split by the duke's cane. That is unnecessary. All the fight is gone from my student. "We need him alive to carry the Psalms," I remind my master. It will never do to have D'Eon die now. We leave the inn.

"There is another one. He may be a child but he has a gun. He should be nearby…" The duke's soldiers take off to carry out their search. D'Eon hangs his head at my words, shoulders trembling slightly. I may have just condemned young Robin to death.

* * *

Maximilien has spoken to D'Eon or Lia. Alone, my student now sits silently at the table as if he is nothing but a tailor's dummy. The Royal Psalms sits on the table before him. His overcoat and sword have been taken from him and placed in another room, out of his reach. If it were not for the steady rise and fall of his chest and the faint whisper of his breathing, one might take him to be dead. I am no longer sure who is in that body now.

There was a ruckus earlier about an intruder. The guards failed to capture him. I have an inkling of who the intruder was. Robin is Durand's protégé indeed. I can almost picture the boy hiding somewhere nearby and awaiting his chance to rescue his fellow musketeer. I must recommend a thorough search of the surrounding grounds. It will be interesting to see what plan the boy hatches up. It will probably involve that damned pistol of his.

I never liked those weapons that reek of fire and gunpowder. Cannons and muskets just turn my stomach. Give me a good old-fashioned sword any day. I pat the hilt of my trusty but broken sword, my companion since my days of glory under the Sun King's reign. The sun over France has since dimmed, obscured by the clouds of uncertainty. Perhaps I am nothing but an old man longing for the old days when a knight's sword was his honour and soul. I will need a new sword soon. I have no intention of retiring yet.

D'Eon came dangerously close to giving up the sword once. "_The sword is too difficult!" seven-year-old D'Eon had protested at my gate. "You can't give up so easily, D'Eon," his older sister chided. "I will be with you, D'Eon. It is all for one and one for all. I will learn to fence with you. We will spar together. Right, Master Teillagory?" Her green eyes met mine as I came down the path, challenging me to deny her words. _I trained her alongside her brother. To our shared relief, D'Eon did not wind up joining any religious orders. It would have been a disaster for the de Beaumonts as he is the only son.

Watching the pair spar was always an experience. Lia and D'Eon understood each other's moves so well, where I would have stopped any other pair if the sparring got as intense as that, I had faith in them both not to hurt the other. If D'Eon's a little slow, Lia has always been able to hold back her blade a fraction of second so that he would not be hurt. Likewise for D'Eon. I hate to admit it, but I missed watching them spar. The quick flashing of blades in the sun, swish of their ponytails in the breeze and the scrunch of their leaping feet on the grass, it was a sight to behold indeed. In that moment, their swords were almost one.

I pass the room where our captive is held. The door is ajar._ How careless._ I steal a glance inside and see D'Eon. I am surprised he has not fled yet. Lia would have at least made a break for it by now. Nothing has changed, except that he has placed a hand on the cover of the book. There is a small furrow of a frown on his face. That is D'Eon. I know those little tics that set them apart. He always has that look when he is deep in thought. No, I am mistaken. That habit of chewing on a corner of her lip. That's Lia's little habit. Both brother and sister are both present at the same time.

He tilts his head slightly in that familiar manner he always uses in his sister's presence, seeking her approval. Lia takes over. She nods slightly, granting her brother permission. D'Eon's hands take hold of the book before them. It's like watching them spar, albeit in a quieter way, evenly matched, in step and perfect harmony.

"Master Teillagory, His Highness seeks you," a harried-looking guard approaches. "Show me to him." I push the door shut behind me. It is best to give D'Eon and Lia their privacy to do what they need to do.

**Author's Notes: **

This turned out to be more focused on the de Beaumonts than their master. I am inspired by the opening sequence where D'Eon and Lia are fencing and their swords seem to almost merge.

Teillagory's way of thinking is quite old school here. For noble boys in medieval Europe, there were 2 options, court or clergy. Queen Marie mentioned that Lia said D'Eon was more a scholar than swordsman. This would probably suggest his inclination towards the clergy. (Imagine D'Eon as a priest.) It was only during the Enlightenment that the nobles started educating their knights to read and write. Before that, education was the sole dominion of the Church. As a female, Lia's options would be even more limited by social norms of the mid 18th century – marriage and motherhood or spinsterhood in a convent.

The Sun King – King Louis XIV of France, King Louis XV's predecessor.

Outtake:

_Christmas morning and the de Beaumont children are unwrapping their presents..._

_Little Lia: _I got a hair ribbon from Papa.

_Little D'Eon:_ I got a toy sword. Wanna swop?


	4. Robin

Disclaimer: The characters of Le Chevalier D'Eon do not belong to me. May contain spoilers for the anime.

This is Robin's POV. I know this may have been done to death by other writers (excuse the pun). Instead of going for the moment where he witnesses the deaths of Queen Marie and Anna, I am setting this earlier in the anime when Teillagory betrays D'Eon.

**Robin: At the Crossroads**

_Heart, don't fail me now  
__Courage, don't desert me  
__Don't turn back  
__Now that we're here_

Old man, how could you? You no-good traitor! Double-crossing snake! Think, Robin, think! What would he have done? What would Sir Durand have done in my place?

Well, for starters, he would not be hugging a pier piling with the waves lapping inches below his butt while they search for him above. If my pistol gets wet, I will have lost my edge over the enemy. I wait until the footsteps above died away before climbing onto the pier. The duke's men have left. No, I am wrong. They are still prowling about the waterfront and town. I duck behind an apple barrel to consider my options.

I was simply sitting on the waterfront thinking of Sir Durand, when I noticed the commotion before our inn. Curious, I ran over to see what was happening. Blending into the gathered crowd, I was horrified to see Sir D'Eon being hauled out between two soldiers. He was sporting a nasty bruise on his cheek. As for Master Teillagory…

It would have been better if he had been dragged out in the same manner as Sir D'Eon was. No. Instead, he strode out alongside the damned Duke of Orleans. I understood in that instant what has happened. We have been sold out by that old man. There were no horses to take us to Versailles. That letter he sent… My suspicions were confirmed by his following words.

"There is another one. He may be a child but he has a gun. He should be nearby…" As he ordered the soldiers to look for me, I fled and hid myself. _So much for the four Musketeers and all that talk about nobility and a knight's honour._ _Nothing but a pretty fairytale for naïve little boys. _

"Sir Durand, what should I do?" I whisper and clutch at the silver pocket watch. I need to do something fast. The Psalms are with D'Eon. I can't go back to Queen Marie like that. D'Eon will be brought to Paris, where the Duke has his mansion. It will be a matter of time before the soldiers find me in this small port town. I cannot tarry here any longer.

_People always say  
__Life is full of choices  
__No one ever mentions fear_

* * *

I can head for Paris to find D'Eon and free him. Or I can go back to Versailles to seek aid from Queen Marie. Or, I can just make a bolt for it. Throw everything behind me and start anew as someone else. No more damned Psalms or knights. Like my namesake, I can take flight as the robin flies and find shelter in some meadow or glade. They say Marseilles in the south is divine, or the Alps in the east. There is Normandy in the west… It is a big world out there but I am only a boy, bereft of my comrades. Hell, maybe I was alone all this time.

No, I am wrong. At Versailles, there is Queen Marie who trusted me and Lady Anna who graces all with her innocent smile. With them, I was never alone even in that empty, sprawling palace. Sir Durand was there with me the past few months on the long road to St Petersburg and London, as was D'Eon. Master Teillagory… I can't tell if he is friend or foe now. I want to think he is a friend. Maybe this is some wily plan of his. It is unlikely but I will not know until I see him, speak to him. I want to hear it from him, out of his mouth.

I see a cart approach. It bears a cargo of preserved fish. I overhear the driver talking to his companion. I understand the cart was headed for Paris. I run after it and climb in unseen among the creels of pickled eels and dried haddock. I hope I do not smell too much when I reach my destination. I curl up the best I can between the creels. I am scared. It doesn't seem such a good idea now…

"_You are the youngest of us, Robin. You will live the longest so it will be your duty to move time forward for France..."_ I blink away my tears at the memory of Sir Durand's words. I fancy I feel his fingers ruffling my hair, but it was only the breeze, nothing more. I can't turn my back on Sir D'Eon like that. Sir Durand would never do that. After all, he came back for us in the end….Robin is not a coward. That will be an insult to Sir Durand's memory if a coward was bestowed with his treasured watch.

I have to admit it. I have behaved like a spoiled, self-righteous brat. I was mad throughout the sea journey from London. Mad at Master Teillagory for joking with and regaling the sailors with his tales of derring-do. Mad at Sir D'Eon for mooning about like a sick calf, eager to return to Lady Anna's side. I was even angry at Sir Durand for getting turned into a Gargoyle and dying on us. I had exhausted my tears by then. _Why Sir Durand?_ _Why did he have to die?_

It strikes me. Master Teillagory had ordered Sir D'Eon to cut off Sir Durand's remaining arm then in the church. Sir D'Eon had refused to maim his friend. They both tried to stop him and failed. Mademoiselle Lia took over and tried to break the spell. They were thwarted by our foe. Mademoiselle Lia, or Sir D'Eon, had wept then as they lowered their friend's lifeless corpse to the floor. A few tears, quickly blinked away. Sir Durand's soul had been called home by the Lord.

I will make amends to Sir D'Eon, I have to. I will not abandon him in his hour of need. _Are we in Paris yet?_ I peer out of my hiding place. Yes. We are near the busy fish market. I slip down from the cart and head up the street leading towards the mansion.

_Or how a road can seem so long  
__How the world can seem so vast_

_

* * *

_

Confound it!

My cheeks are afire with shame. I had bungled. Intent on my eavesdropping, I had left my back exposed. He could have easily run me through on that balcony with his sword, and I would have found myself in Sir Durand's company in the afterlife. Sir Durand would probably have boxed my ears for making such an idiotic mistake. _So why did Maximilien Robespierre hesitate? _The guards are crawling about the gardens now. Given the number of guards I have observed in the garden, there cannot be many left indoors. I decide to enter the mansion. Sir Durand would have approved of my decision_._

Silently, I shimmy up some ivy and onto another balcony. I peer through the window and spot D'Eon's cream overcoat and his sword on a divan. I test the window. It yields silently. I know where in the mansion D'Eon is being held. I must return the sword and coat to him. Together, we will take the Psalms back to Versailles. Our mission will be complete then, wouldn't it? Queen Marie will help Sir D'Eon with finding the truth behind his sister's death and set her tormented soul to rest. Sir D'Eon will be free to marry Lady Anna and they will live happily ever after.

It sounds so much like some clichéd fairytale that I have long outgrown.

God in Heaven, keep me out of sight of any guards and Master Teillagory, be he a traitor or not. The pistol was in my hand, a reassuring weight as I enter the mansion. I will need all my courage and wits about me on this venture. For all I know, this is only the beginning…

_Courage see me through  
__Heart I'm trusting you  
__On this journey... _

**Author's Notes:**

This one is inspired by Robin's actions from the time Durand is killed to the time he tries to rescue D'Eon. He has been through some rough knocks but is determined to help D'Eon at this point.

The song is _Journey to the Past_ from the animated movie _Anastasia_. In this case, Robin is setting out on a journey towards the future and he would soon arrive at a crossroads where he ends up taking a different path from D'Eon. I have to admit, Robin is gutsy. Imagine taking off like that alone.

Outtake:

Robin: How the hell did you find me on that balcony?

Maximilien: Eau de pickled eel. You should have picked some other less smelly means of transport into Paris.


	5. Lia

Disclaimer: The characters of Le Chevalier D'Eon do not belong to me. May contain spoilers for the anime.

This is for Lia, the oft-overlooked 5th Musketeer. Robin once referred to her as the fifth member of their party. I know her POV has been done by others but here is my take. It will not be fair to leave her out since she is the main driving force behind the story. This is from the episode in London where Lia goes berserk and later when she and Maximilien overpower their former mentor in Medmenham Abbey.

**Lia: Lady Vengeance **

_Why do the stars go on shining?_

_Why do these eyes of mine cry?_

_Don't they know it's the end of the world?_

_It ended when you said goodbye…_

_Bon Dieu_, no… Not Maximilien… I can feel him dying. Dashwood's killing him! Max, don't you dare die on me! You idiot! What were you thinking challenging him alone? Then I sense his soul leaving. He's gone. Maximilien Robespierre is dead without so much as an adieu.

"_In the name of that truth and loyalty, I shall take my vengeance!"_ I weep tears of blood, blindly lashing out with both blade and the power of the poems. I hear Robin's alarmed shout through the haze. Durand is writhing in agony as he clutches the now-bleeding stump of his arm. My old master runs up behind me and throws his arms about my vessel, my dear brother D'Eon. I do not care who I lash out at, friend or foe. It no longer matters. Maximilien is dead!

"You show your emotions as clearly as you did in life, Lia," he murmurs weakly. The power of my poems is still coursing through his body. "D'Eon, save your sister…" Teillagory adds in a desperate attempt to calm me.

I sense him then. D'Eon's soul is fluttering like a wounded bird beating itself to pieces against the bars of its prison, desperately trying to reach me. Dear gentle D'Eon. He has fought me in this way more than once since we started, trying to stop me from killing needlessly. The blood-red haze of senseless rage clears. I relent and let my sword fall. _Sorry, Master…_ D'Eon re-emerges, master of his own body again as I retreat to my little corner of my vessel in shame. _D'Eon, you have saved me from doing something I will have regretted for eternity… _

I have cut a swathe of death on the bridge to Medmenham. No less than a dozen of our foes lay dead from my blade. And I almost killed Durand and my comrades in the process. D'Eon will positively be horrified by my actions. He's too gentle in his nature. He hasn't really got the stomach for bloodletting of any kind. He refused to join any hunts after he participated in a foxhunt with the Rocheforts five years back. "That boy should have gone into the clergy!" our father had declared in disgust when D'Eon said chasing after foxes with guns and hounds was not to his liking. For me, foxhunting is too tame, especially after I have participated in a wolf hunt with Empress Elizaveta in Russia. That was challenging.

I can never resist a good challenge.

* * *

Feeling strangely detached, I watch as my brother and his comrades confer on their next course of action. It is getting more difficult to shut my memories from him. Soon, he will find out. He will see me, the sister he holds in awe, reduced to a weak, sobbing wreck of a woman by the man named Maximilien Robespierre. God, why do I even care about that now? He knows already how deeply I feel towards Max.

"_M-maximilien, don't leave me…" I had pleaded with my dying breath. "Don't go…" _He left me. Loved me, proposed marriage and then left me. Maybe if His Majesty had been more supportive… maybe if he had just gone on to Russia on that mission instead of turning his back on France. I was so sure that if I carried out my duty with loyalty, the king would relent. He stole the royal secrets and sent them to me to read. Hell in a hand-basket, that secret if leaked, will tear France apart.

Max, I love you from the bottom of my heart, although we were never meant to be. Why do you suppose I acted as I did that day against my better judgement? I wanted to meet you again, my love. I knew it might be a trap yet I wanted to believe that message I found in the catacombs. Instead, I found only death waiting.

Lying there dying on the cathedral floor, I realised the truth. In that instant, I wanted to live, to be with you. No matter where, no matter how… France, the king, friends, family… I would've gladly given it all up for you… Alas, it was too late… At least God granted me one last glimpse of you through my own eyes before death took me into its embrace.

Where is your soul now? I can't sense you. I do not know how or why I am stuck in limbo, sharing a body with my brother. At least I am able to protect him and his friends through the power of the poems. My poor, confused and gentle brother who could hardly bring himself to hurt even a fly, he needs my protection still.

* * *

It is decided. We will march onto the abbey and confront Dashwood. D'Eon is worried. He has reason to be. We face a powerful foe. _Why are you so angry, Lia?_ He has asked me so many times over the past few weeks. _Who killed you?_

I cannot say. I was stabbed in the confessional through the latticework by an assailant whose face I was unable to see. The sword guard I glimpsed then. _So familiar…_ I want to believe it is not him. I want to believe my loyalty is not for nought.

_Of course I am angry! The coward hasn't the guts to face me in a fair fight!_ I must shut my emotions aside. D'Eon is unused to the sheer maelstrom of my feelings. They will only distract him in battle…

Behind us, Durand cries out a warning. The poems keep him from following us. I cannot resist. Dashwood is calling me. I lower my sword. D'Eon's soul flutters in that small corner of his body it is forced into whenever I possess him so entirely. _Stop! You will be killed!_ He shouts. _Fight it, Lia! _It touches me that his only concern is for my safety. He has no regard for his own. I understand that D'Eon will be killed as well when my vessel is destroyed. Dashwood means to destroy us, just as he did Max.

I fight. The words sing their siren song… Black despair eats at me. Max is dead… Nothing matters anymore… All the rage, pain… it will be good to be relieved of it all. Unresisting, I walk down the corridor to our fate. "D'Eon! Lia! Don't!" Durand cries plaintively. It is no use. Dashwood is too strong. Soon we are before him.

"I will grant you the repose of the soul, Lia…" he smirks and raises his staff. _Do your worst, Dashwood…_ I do not raise my sword. I wait for the merciful blow that will sever my soul from this material world and hopefully send me to Max's side…

_Why do the stars go on shining?_

_Why do the waves rush to shore?_

_Don't they know it's the end of the world?_

The fluttering of D'Eon's soul grows more insistent as he senses my growing despair. _No, don't give in!_ _Lia, fight! Lift your sword and defend yourself!_ He urges. It is useless. I drift with Dashwood's poems into that illusion world of a mock Versailles.

Wait, we are not alone. _Max? Is that you? _I sense him, stronger than ever. _Lend me your strength, Lia, _he urges me._ Lend me your voice. Together, we can win._ Maximilien urges me. My heart sings with joy. He lives. His soul is with me. It is a hellish future Max lays out in Dashwood's illusion-world. I can almost feel D'Eon shrinking in horror at the bloodshed. _Sorry, little brother._ I reach out to him, to reassure him even as I lend my voice and poems to Max's. There is hope for France in spite of the terror that will come. Hope for the future… You must believe me, D'Eon.

* * *

It is finished. We, Max and I, broke Dashwood's power in the illusion-world. There is still one more thing to do in the real world. I am too weary to do it alone. _Help me, please._ D'Eon understands, as weary as he too is. He has changed much since we started on this journey. Perhaps he is a stronger and wiser man now. He lifts the sword in his hand and runs my former mentor through, a sacrifice to open the road to a new world. The power of the poets in England is broken for good. I let D'Eon regain full control of his body as his comrades catch up. D'Eon has seen what I have seen. He knows what to do. For now, I can leave him to pass on the message to the surviving poets at the abbey and retrieve that bloody book.

Max? Where are you? He has gone again. Damn you, Maximilien Robespierre. Why do you keep leaving me? You are the first man to ditch me. Normally, I do the ditching. But you were different. You were the only one I truly loved. Someday, I will spend all eternity with you. For better or worse, be it in gardens of Paradise or the fiery pits of Purgatory. We will be together always.

**Author's Notes: **

The song is 'The End of the World'.

Max and Lia make such an interesting couple. If only they weren't blood siblings. Imagine the kids they would have had. D'Eon's a bit of a gooseberry here. I don't think he would have been spared when Dashwood sent Lia into that illusion world. He was probably there with Lia, a witness to what was to come. At the time of the showdown with Dashwood, I am confused about who is in charge, D'Eon or Lia. Lia seems to be in a trance-like state for much of that encounter.

_Bon Dieu_ – French for 'Good God'

Outtake:

_Lia (in D'Eon's body):_ Max...

_Maximilien:_ Lia.

_Lovers passionately kiss when D'Eon suddenly returns to his body. _

_D'Eon punches Maximilien in the face and gurgles mouthwash vigorously. _


	6. Maximilien

Disclaimer: The characters of Le Chevalier D'Eon do not belong to me. May contain spoilers for the anime.

This is inspired by the image of Maximilien watching from the river bank as Lia's casket drifts off into the fog.

**Maximilien: Best-Laid Plans **

"_M-max… please, don't go…"_ Her green eyes are already glazing over with death. I found her too late. There is so much blood on the tiles of the cathedral. Her red vest is soaked in it. I see the blood trail she left as she struggled out of the confessional until she collapsed from her mortal injury before the altar. This is not supposed to happen. We were supposed to be joined in holy matrimony in that same cathedral, damn it! Instead, I helplessly watch her die in my arms.

I planned to wait at the altar for her. A white carriage, drawn by matching white horses, will come before the cathedral. My bride will step out of that carriage, lilies in her hands. Lia will be garbed in a bridal gown of pure snowy white, comes marching down the path with her brother to give her away at the altar. After we have taken our vows before God, family and friends, we will ride off to our new home. I will not mind moving into your home, the de Beaumont mansion, with your brother and family. I recall you saying that he is already engaged to be wed. We will have children, five or six. They will probably have your green eyes and blond hair. Your brother and his bride will probably produce a couple of their own so our offspring will never want for company.

We will retire from the _Secret du Roi_ and spend our free time watching the children play in the gardens. I will probably find some employment as a court scribe that will keep me near home or tutor youngsters in fencing like your old teacher does. We can travel together, see the world. I want to show you Florence, Vienna and Madrid. We will grow old together, Lia… Our children will grow up and bless us with grandchildren. We will be so happy for the rest of our days.

One thing I have learnt in the _Secret du Roi_: the best laid plans often go awry, for we are all the children of an angry God who takes delight in our despair and suffering.

That man refused to bless our union, instead sending me off to Russia and away from your side. They say Louis has lost his ardour for Pompadour and was seeking another young lady to warm his bed. I feared he might have set his eyes on you, my dearest Lia. I cannot accept that. That dark night, I crept into his bedchamber, sword in hand and fire in my blood. Lia, you must be horrified if you only knew how close I came to killing that wretch you believe to be in God's grace. Instead, I found him absent from the bedchamber, probably cavorting elsewhere in female company. I saw the secret panel open. The book was there, as if waiting for me all this while.

I wish to God I never found that accursed book. It is too late for regrets now. I am steeped in this mess so deep. There is no turning back for me.

I carry her limp body out of the cathedral, and ride all the way to the Comte's. I am not leaving her for Louis' vultures to dispose of in some unmarked hole. Lia de Beaumont is not going to simply vanish into the darkness as others have done. She feels too light in my arms as I carry her up to the Comte's house. I know her soul is gone. I collapse in tears at the porch, unable to proceed further. Stunned, Lorenza and the others take over from me at the door.

I wanted to share the secrets of the book, the promise within its pages with Lia. I wanted to share my life with her, love and cherish her always…Yet she had returned the book to me and refused my love. Why? I cannot understand even now. Had you seen something inside those pages that terrified you? Lia had wept, pleaded and begged me not to go. She beseeched me to return the Psalms to Versailles. I refused. Louis knows it was me who took them. I cannot hope to escape his wrath.

Why was it Lia who died where I should have? Pure, innocent Lia who served her king and country with every inch of her soul, was rewarded for her loyalty with death! Ah, Heaven must be blind to strike down such an innocent. She loved me. In the end, she loved me. I failed her.

* * *

The fog will cover us as we do our secret deed. There will be no burial for Lia. The power of the Psalms within her body will not allow it to return to the dust. Her soul is still abroad in this mortal realm, the Comte had explained it to me. It is up to me to set our plans in motion. Hopefully, her soul will be placated once the truth is revealed.

The Comte has been generous in providing Lia with a beautiful coffin of sturdy oak for her final journey. The word 'Psalms' painted on its lid in blood will be cause for notice, even if the casket alone were insufficient. I wonder how Durand would react to this. At this hour, he is probably sleeping it off in one of his rat-holes by the river as he waits for Louis' next orders. Or he may still be in Marseilles visiting his sister or abroad on a mission. I do not know. I haven't thought of him in a while, not since I turned my back on our king.

"Lower her gently…" I emphasize. The Comte's men carefully lower her casket into the water at the river's edge. We have to act quickly. There is no telling how long this fog will last. "Please, let me see her face one more time," I ask. My request is granted. The lid is slid off to the side to reveal her face, peaceful in repose. I do not cry. I have long exhausted my tears. Perhaps I will never cry again. My heart died when she did.

Lorenza all but threw me out of the cellar where she and the Comte's maidservants were laying out Lia's body. "Washing a lady's corpse is women's work, sir," she snapped. "You'll only get underfoot." She handed me the bloodied clothes Lia was wearing through the door and took Lia's gown from me. They did a good job of washing and dressing Lia. Her hair is curled into loose ringlets over her shoulders. Her silver cross is held demurely in her clasped hands over her bosom. A bit of rouge and lip-paint graced her face, giving a hint of colour to her paleness. God knows there was precious little blood left in her body when I carried her to the Comte's.

I bend over her and stroke her hair… I refused to dress her in the traditional bridal gown for her burial. It would be a mockery of all our thwarted dreams. Instead, my beloved will be clothed in the red gown she so loved in life. Red was always her favourite shade. The red gown does her more justice than any bridal gown. She always looked regal in red. She may have been sleeping, her features are so peaceful.

_She has a lovely face;_

_God in his mercy lend her grace_

I kiss her ice-cold cheek. "Au revoir, my beloved Lia. Till we meet again…" I allow the coffin lid to be closed. We shove her casket into the waiting Seine. I watch from the bank as she drifts off on the current. I watch until the fog closes in like a grey shroud and hides her from sight.

"Let's be on our way…" I reluctantly get into the coach. The casket will wash ashore downstream, near the main streets where the merchants have their stores and the nobles stroll. Durand will notice for sure, if he is in town. So will Lia's family and the royal court's dogs as well.

The cards have been shuffled. Now I can only wait to see what cards the fickle bitch Fate will draw.

**Author's Notes: **

The poem I took the lines from is the _Lady of Shalott_ by Lord Tennyson, the actual poem was written about 100 years after the time the anime was set though earlier ballads of similar theme may have existed. It is an old tradition, I read, in France to bury the dead as if dressed for their wedding. Maximilen must have loved Lia intensely and his feelings were reciprocated by Lia. When she is murdered, that was probably the spark that really set him off. What do you think?

In Chinese culture, dressing the dead in red, especially in the case of a murder victim, is a sure-fire way to ensure the deceased's angry soul will return to seek vengeance on those responsible. The soul cannot rest until those responsible are dragged into Hell for judgement. The colour red is significant as it is the colour of blood and equates to vitality, life and power in many cultures. When I first saw Lia lying in her coffin wearing that red gown in the anime, I was thinking: _'Which dolt dressed her in that? No wonder her soul cannot rest.'_ I don't know if the French Catholics or the Japanese had any beliefs about this.

Outtake:

Lia: Max! How could you put me in that dress! I look so fat! And that make-up! I look like a tart.

Maximilien (thinking): Women... There's no pleasing them...


	7. Anna

Disclaimer: The characters of Le Chevalier D'Eon do not belong to me. May contain spoilers for the anime.

This is another take on the funeral scene where D'Eon kisses Anna. The souls of those we love are always with us. Hence the audience other than the dauphin and the attendants.

**Anna: Fairytale Path**

_Don't lose your way with each passing day  
__You've come so far, don't throw it away  
__Live believing, dreams are for weaving  
__Wonders are waiting to start  
__Live your story, faith, hope and glory  
__Hold to the truth in your heart_

"Anna, I am so sorry, child… you must go…" Queen Marie strokes my hair as I weep helplessly. D'Eon has not yet returned. In my dying moments, I fancied I saw his face. Now I know it was all a figment of my own longing. Our mortal remains lay in their respective coffins. Mourners come and go but there is no sign of my beloved among them. I do not know if he is safe. _Why?_ Since I was twelve, I wanted to grow into a fine noble lady worthy of D'Eon's love. We will be wed and I shall be the perfect wife to him and mother to his children. I wanted so badly to…

Anna Rochefort will become Anna de Beaumont, wife to D'Eon de Beaumont, in a lovely ceremony which will be held in the rose gardens before the small church I was baptised in. D'Eon will have a magnificent white charger, and I will ride with him as we start our new life together, like the princes and princesses in those fairytales I read to His Highness at bedtime.

Her Majesty's soul is also in agony, though she bears it with resignation. Her husband of many years had poisoned her. I do not understand how she could be so calm. She casts her eyes towards her young son, surrounded as he is by the other attendants. Poor Auguste is devastated. To add insult to injury, our murderer sits next to the dauphin, accepting the offered condolences of the nobles and ambassadors.

"For all his flaws, I still love him," the queen admits. "I pray he keeps his promise to me." Her eyes scan the crowd. I know she is looking for her page. Robin has vanished from the palace after that night. She fears His Majesty may have broken his promise or Robin has met with mischance. Robin's only a child despite his keen mind. He was horrified when he walked in on our corpses and His Majesty holding the still-bloody sword in his hand.

She had made His Majesty promise to spare D'Eon and young Robin. No one else was to be harmed. Yet even as her still-warm body lay sprawled across the table, I died for walking in at the wrong time. It really hurts having a sword stabbed into your back.

My father had wept earlier when he came to pay his respects. I never saw my father look so old. Weeping, he regretted sending me into Versailles as an attendant. _It was my choice, Papa. Please don't blame yourself. _Young Auguste, God bless him, took his hand in his small ones and comforted him, reassuring him that the killers will be brought to justice. He does not know our murderer was standing behind him, offering his condolences to my father.

The mourners are filing away now. Tomorrow, we will be buried in our respective crypts after the funeral service. I will be laid to rest beside my mother. Still no sign of D'Eon. The last mourners leave and we are alone, two souls on the brink of stepping into eternity.

* * *

_Souls in the wind must learn how to bend  
__Seek out a star, hold on to the end  
__Valley, mountain, there is a fountain  
__Washes our tears all away  
__Words are swaying, someone is praying  
__Please let us come home to stay_

"I don't want to go, not without seeing him one last time…" I blurt out. "Anna, I'm sorry. You cannot tarry too long here, lest your soul gets left behind by the light…" Queen Marie's voice is firmer now. "We will all meet in the end, as the Good Lord calls us home to him…" I shake my head. I can't…

There is a commotion. The doors creak open. "D'Eon!" I cry out in joy. I rush forward to hold him. I only run past him, an insubstantial form. Auguste and his remaining attendants hover nearby, unseeing. I am dead, a lost soul not of the material world.

"Anna?" Lia. I turn. Lia, my dear friend, stands beside D'Eon as he struggles with the lid of my coffin. She had stepped back slightly to offer D'Eon some privacy to his grief. "God, why you too, Anna?" she almost screams. I can see the spiky red aura of rage enveloping her soul.

"Lia, school yourself!" Queen Marie calls out. The sparking of Lia's aura calms a bit. She is a mess. The last time I thought I saw her on the misty day D'Eon bid me farewell, she was dressed as if for a court reception. Now her hair is a tangled mane. Blood stains the clothes she wore, an exact copy of the ones on her brother. I know instinctively D'Eon has been wounded recently. The wounds Lia bears are a reflection of those he suffered. She is always with him. A pang of jealousy flashes through my soul.

"Your Majesty, Lia, let me be with D'Eon…" I beg. The two women exchange sad glances. "Look to him, Anna," the queen says quietly. I watch as D'Eon weeps, cradles me in his arms and finally kisses my cold lifeless lips. Tears run down my cheeks as well as those of Lia and Queen Marie. I reach out to comfort him but my hand only passes through him. _I love you, D'Eon…_ I kiss him on his cheek but he does not notice.

"My brother loves you, Anna," Lia says. "To remain earthbound like me, it is to be denied entry into Heaven. If you remain for his sake, it will hurt him if he knows."

"Lia, will you be coming with us into the light too?" I ask. She looks so tired. Lia lowers her head. "I do not know if Heaven will receive me… perhaps after I have completed what I must do, what D'Eon and I must do…" she leans forward so her hair hides her face. "I do not know if Heaven or Hell awaits me now…" She sounds so lost. "Till then, all I can do is to protect him."

D'Eon is leaving now. He limps slightly. Lia rises to her feet unsteadily. Our paths will part again. She walks alongside him, until her soul overlaps with his. Pity overwhelms me. "Lia, please believe and have faith in God. We will meet in Heaven. Tell D'Eon to live his life, live a good life. Till then, adieu!" I call out. I catch a glimpse of a smile from Lia before they disappear out the door.

_If we hold on together  
__I know our dreams will never die  
__Dreams see us through to forever  
__Where clouds roll by, for you and I_

I see the glowing path open up to receive us. It is so beautiful. I weep. We are being called home to the Lord. Oh, the music… I know my mother will be waiting in that light, my grandmother too. I will be patient. I believe Lia's soul will find peace. Lia will definitely join us. We shall meet again in Heaven. Live your life to the fullest, D'Eon. I will be there to greet you when your time comes to be called home, though I pray it will not be too soon.

Queen Marie takes my hand in hers. A smile graces her face. Together, we step into the light.

Adieu, my beloved knight. Live your life and live it well, D'Eon.

**Author's Notes: **

The song is _'If we hold on together.'_ I was wondering in spite of Lia's growing influence on his actions, there are some times when D'Eon is definitely in control. Their somewhat unusual situation may have affected Lia as well as D'Eon. In the case of Queen Mary and her sister, their souls eventually became as one.

Outtake in the afterlife:

Anna: Welcome home, D'Eon. What did you do with your life since?

D'Eon: Er, erm… (thinking:_ how do I tell her I spent the last 40 plus years living as a woman and sponging off Queen Mary's charity?)_

Ah, the irony…


	8. Bernis

Disclaimer: The characters of Le Chevalier D'Eon do not belong to me. May contain spoilers for the anime.

This one is subject to creative liberties, loads of it. I was wondering if D'Eon had any close friendships besides Anna and the Secret du Roi. I settled on the POV of the poor chap Bernis he kills while possessed by Lia. Somehow I came out with this. OOC ness expected.

**Bernis: A Friend Indeed**

_The young ones shouldn't be afraid _

_To live, love, while the flame is strong_

'_Cos we may not be the young ones very long_

The mission, get one squeaky-clean altar boy, D'Eon de Beaumont, into a bordello and get him to lose his virginity on his sixteenth birthday. I grin at the look of shock on my friend's face my little proposal has elicited. "I can't! Papa will kill me if he finds out," D'Eon whispers. "Besides, I am engaged…"

"Aw, come on. Wouldn't it be better if at least one of you knows what to do on the wedding night? Or are you so crass as to ask the chambermaids for help on that? Madame Esmeralda's girls will show you how to really have fun… Brunettes, blonds, redheads, you can have your pick." I put aside my sword. Master Teillagory is busy tutoring a younger student some distance away. My poor friend hesitates, looking over his shoulder to where his elder sister Lia is wiping her brow after a match with our esteemed teacher.

"Aw, come on… Karl and Pieter will be coming along too. We will have loads of fun…" I coax. "Tell me, what type of woman do you prefer? Big boobs? A pert derriere?" D'Eon's boyish features flush crimson in reply.

_Damn!_ Lia is looking this way. A suspicious look creases her features. It is sheer bad luck she showed up today. She had disappeared for a while. They say she has been sent to Versailles to be the Queen's attendant by her mother after blowing off yet another potential suitor. They say she trounced the Viscomte de Montague in a friendly sparring match after he made some less than flattering remarks about her family. The poor man may never hold a sword again. Now she is back and D'Eon will be stuck following her like some little puppy. _Woman, don't you know? A boy needs his freedom…_

Lia will probably never ever marry and lacks the decency to cloister herself in a nunnery. You will have an overbearing spinster at home to nag and hassle you, D'Eon. My poor friend, you will be stuck with that harridan under your roof for the rest of your days… _Damn!_ She is heading this way! I panick.

Lia is tall, much too tall for a woman. She exudes an air of authority that is a match for any general. She walks towards us and the guys in her way instinctively stand down to let her pass just as waves part before a schooner. A few chaps even raise their rapiers unconsciously as if in a salute. She still recalls the time I persuaded D'Eon to smuggle his father's best wine out for Karl's eleventh birthday celebrations. D'Eon had a terrible hangover the next day. I had Lia threatening me with death by the sword if her little brother should expire. She never quite forgave me for that debacle.

"What mischief might you two be planning?" she asks us. D'Eon begins to stammer. "Horses," I lie easily. "We were talking about horses, mares and fillies…right?" I nudge my friend. D'Eon nods too readily. I pray my lie will pass her scrutiny. D'Eon always professed an interest in joining the cavalry. Lia turns her attention to her brother.

"Happy sixteenth birthday, D'Eon. I look forward to having dinner with you… It has been a while, hasn't it?" she smiles sweetly. D'Eon will never turn her down. There goes my plan of getting D'Eon into Madame Esmeralda's this evening. _Pity._ I was looking forward to spending the evening showing D'Eon a fun time before I leave for my new post tomorrow.

* * *

_Tomorrow…_

_Why wait until tomorrow_

'_Cos tomorrow sometimes never comes_

Lia de Beaumont, the formidable sister of D'Eon, is dead. I stare at that peaceful face as she lies in that casket. It is a bright dawn with clear skies and sunshine. I am not looking forward to bringing bad tidings to the de Beaumont household on this day. I know my old friend D'Eon will be devastated. Since we took up our different posts two years back, our paths rarely crossed. I am a member of the Parisian secret police. He became a member of the ceremonial mounted guards of Versailles. I like the challenge and the danger. I don't think D'Eon can handle more excitement than riding in the king's parade when His Majesty deigns to make an official visit to Paris.

Hearing hoof-beats, I glance up at the embankment. "No, Lia!" A choked voice cries out.

_Damn._ As luck will have it, D'Eon is on the street overlooking the bank where we have his sister's casket hauled out of the water. He is dressed in his smart blue uniform and mounted on his horse. His face is as bloodless as his sister's is now. He is trembling. We have always teased him about his almost feminine looks, but it never really struck me till then how alike they are in looks. It is as if I am looking at Lia's pale features transposed on her brother's face.

_Damn it!_ He tries to dismount clumsily and his boot catches in the stirrup. He begins to fall headfirst to the cobblestones. I run forward to catch him. It will be a sad day indeed if I have to tell Madame de Beaumont her only daughter's corpse has washed up on the river bank and her only son broke his neck falling off his own steed. I really don't want to have D'Eon's brains splattered on the street.

"Lia…" D'Eon moans and stumbles. I have to steady him as we make our way down the stairs to the bank. He collapses weeping by the casket. In the course of my work, I have seen grown men break under torture, weep, and rant and fall to pieces. _Don't you dare fall to pieces on me, D'Eon._ He screams her name again and again like some mantra that will miraculously restore her to life.

"Wake up, Lia. Wake up. Open your eyes!" he reaches for her as if he means to shake her awake.

_Enough is enough._ I strike him hard enough to stun him into silence. "Get a grip on yourself, D'Eon!" I shout. He sniffles and bubblers, trying to regain control and rein in his grief. "Bernis?" he looks at me, recognizing who I am. I nod. He wipes his tears with his sleeve. "You have changed, Bernis… It has been a while" he hiccups.

"Yeah, and you haven't changed a bit." I lie to him. I saw it in that instant he saw Lia's dead body in that casket. The carefree D'Eon I knew is gone for good.

* * *

Lia's body and the casket it was in had been whisked away. I do not know where. I am only a small pawn in the bigger scheme of things. His Majesty has taken a special interest in this death. The de Beaumonts will not have a corpse to bury. There are other young women who have disappeared in this city. Lia will be thought of as one of them. Lia was a member of the Secret du Roi, the select group sworn to protect the king's secrets… so the whispers go. I am sick of the whispers and the shadows that haunt the dark alleys of Paris.

I stumble into a tavern and see him at a table in the corner. "D'Eon?" He looks up at my voice. He's been drinking. The telltale flush is on his cheeks. Barely a week has passed since our last meeting. He has changed. The boyish D'Eon has been replaced by this sombre creature I see before me. I order a drink and sit beside him, for old times' sake.

"Bernis… is there any lead on who killed my sister?" he asks. I shake my head. "I want to know… I must know…" he is muttering now. "My sister…" his words trail away. He takes another gulp of the fiery liquid in his glass.

"Karl told me once, before he got into that unfortunate cannon accident," he muses. "That you are in the secret police." I silently curse our departed friend. Karl's lips always did flap more than a loose sail in a gale. D'Eon's next words catch me off-guard. "Let me join the investigations. I know you are all looking into those disappearances. Lia's death may be tied to them."

"You're drunk," I reply. Still, I offer my hand to him. We shake hands in that shadowy tavern. I see in that instant something in his eyes under the haze of the alcohol. It is a glint of cold determination, the likes of which I have never seen in my friend before.

**Author's Notes: **

It turned out to be another insight into the Lia-D'Eon sibling dynamics. I really don't know much about Bernis, except maybe he was a friend of D'Eon's from way back. I just had this image of D'Eon's buddy trying to get him into mischief as an adolescent and his sister interfering. The song I took the verses from is _The Young Ones. _

What do you think?

Outtake:

_D'Eon's stag-night, courtesy of Durand and Bernis. _

_Durand:_ Ta-da _(reveals scantily-clad exotic dancer behind a curtain, who promptly starts gyrating her hips)_

_Dancer starts shedding her clothes. D'Eon blushes furiously and runs into next room where Lia is holding a spa party for Anna, which involves intensive mud pack facials. Need less to say, the ladies are not looking their best. Traumatized D'Eon faints and Lia marches over to Durand and Bernis to settle with them over the dancer. _

_Whack! Whack! _


	9. Queen Marie

Disclaimer: The characters of Le Chevalier D'Eon do not belong to me. May contain spoilers for the anime.

It just occurred to me how grown-up Anna looked at the last part. Guess she is preparing for her coming wedding. New hairdo, jewelry etc. In the beginning episodes of the anime and the opening sequence, she looks like a young girl.

**Queen Marie: Till Death do Us Part**

"Your Majesty! I can't possibly…" Anna stares in amazement at the matching ruby bracelets I have fastened around her wrists. "Think of it as my wedding gift to you," I smile. The bracelets were a gift from my mother to me when I left for France. I know I will never have a daughter of my own. If I ever had a daughter, I would like her to be like Anna. She is such a bright and caring girl. It is good that her loved one will be returning to her side. I really missed that sunny smile of hers during his absence.

"Thank you so much. You are most kind…" she gushes and drops a curtsy. "Go along now. Auguste should be waking from his nap soon," I urge her to leave. Out of the corner of my eye I can see the slight flutter of the tapestry on the far wall. Maximilien is waiting in the secret passage behind it. Anna leaves, her thoughts no doubt on D'Eon and her coming wedding. I understand her feelings. After all, I was once a young bride-to-be myself. Our wayward knight steps out from hiding as soon as Anna is out of the room.

"The Marquise de Pompadour is dead," Maximilien reports to me. "The little one's soul is at rest." That is one burden off my heart. God forgive me. At least I know that woman will not manipulate my dear Louis or Auguste for her selfish purposes any more. "Robespierre, will you remain to guide Auguste?" I ask.

"It will be best if His Highness is guided by his mother," he replies, his features an inscrutable mask. I shake my head. I should have known. He has stayed so long just to assist me in defeating the Comte and Pompadour. His goal achieved, he will disappear into the shadows from whence he had emerged from several days ago. "Madame, I shall take my leave now," he bows and exits the way he came, silent as a shade. His heart died when Lia did. I pray that his tormented soul will find some solace.

I am left alone, truly alone now that even Belle has gone to her long overdue rest.

* * *

_Fly, sway, go all the way…_

_I'm in the same fate as you…_

"_Do you, Marie, take His Majesty King Louis XV as your lawfully wedded husband, to honour and obey… in sickness and health… Till death do you part?"_ It was so bright that day we were wed. The sun shone upon us like God's own grace blessing our union. I stood beside you, all but overwhelmed by the grandeur of everything around me. My father's court in Poland is but a pale shadow compared to the glory of France.

"_I do."_ With those words, I became Queen of France and more importantly, your wife. As long as you are with me, I shall not fear whatever lies before us. We were so young then, my beloved.

I stare at my reflection in the mirror. It has been so long ago since I first came to Versailles a new bride. Time has added its lines to my face. A few strands of white have started to show in my brown hair. I have been blessed with a lovely son, heir to the throne. He is still a young child. I overhear his sweet voice as he plays in the next room with Anna. Ah, Auguste is my little angel, a present from God after many disappointments.

"_You will be killed, Marie…"_ Belle had warned me before I handed her back to her mother. _"That man means to kill you!"_ Dear Belle. I thank you for your concern. My fate is not mine to decide. It has been entwined with his and that of France since that bright day so long ago. He has invited me to join him for dinner tonight. That is most unusual. He has not dined with me since Auguste was two.

I will wear the cream and green gown I am in. It is still quite presentable. It will be unkind to ask Anna to come in now to help me into a new one. I will not deny Auguste his fun. One knows childhood is a luxury for those of royal birth. I open my jewel case. The pearl earrings and matching pendant will do quite nicely. There is that diamond necklace he gave me on our third anniversary… Of course, it was an apology of sorts after I walked in on him and the young daughter of a certain Vicomte. I think I will leave that alone. I brush my brown hair until it shines. He always enjoyed stroking my hair in those early days of our marriage.

_I still believe in your love…_

_Trace the shadow of truth into the dark…_

_Forever…_

* * *

There are no servants present to wait on us. Even old Broglie, loyal servant as he is, retreats from the room as soon the food and drink have been laid out before us. The Psalms have returned to us. I have sent Robin off. I would really like to watch that boy grow up. Though he is of low birth, he is wise for all his youth. It is for his potential that I first took him in as my page. This mission has opened his eyes to the possibilities that exist beyond the walls of Versailles.

Someday, he will be a valuable ally for my son. If there is someone who could guide Auguste in reforming the nation, it is Robin. Yet I know I will never live to see my son ascend the throne or how my young page and Auguste will change the nation.

The food has gone cold, I pick at my roast beef and vegetables. "Is the food to your liking, my dear?" he smiles and asks. I note that he has pushed aside his plate with the food upon it almost untouched. "Yes," I lie. I never liked roast beef. I pat my lips with my napkin and push my plate aside.

Smiling, I place the book on the table before us. "The Psalms have returned to us, Louis. No one else needs to be harmed."

"A toast," he takes the wine bottle that has been sitting untouched to the side of the table. He takes my glass and fills it. His hand shakes slightly as he does so. He keeps his eyes downcast, much like those nights when he lies about working late while he has been visiting another woman. I know in that instant that I have just eaten my last meal.

_Tears fall, vanish into the night…_

"Is this the special wine then, Louis? I suppose not even old Broglie has tested this," I ask. He stutters. _Oh well, I'll spare him that._

"Ah, how thoughtful of you, it is the same vintage as that which was served to us at our wedding…" I lie and swirl the wine in my glass, watching my coming death catch the candlelight from the chandeliers overhead. It is late. Anna would have tucked Auguste in for bed and retired to hers by now. "Louis, please promise me… no one else is to die for the sake of the Royal Secrets. Please spare D'Eon and Robin. They are still young…"

"As you wish, my Marie…" my husband promises but his eyes are studying the pattern on the carpet. Anna, I will never attend your wedding, though I have promised to. Forgive me. Be happy, Anna. D'Eon will return soon. Marry him and be happy…

"Thank you for everything, Louis. I still remember when I first came to Versailles from Poland. I was so young and so lost. You were so kind to me… I wish I could share your loneliness, my king. In the end, I know I have failed in that," I lift the glass to my lips. He suddenly grabs my wrist. I lower my glass and look at him. I see the uncertainty in his eyes. He's fearful of the secrets, the book that denies him his heritage and his throne. _Poor Louis…_

I take his hand in mine and loosen his weak grip on me. There is no use dragging it out. "To France, and to King Louis the Beloved, who is in God's grace..." He does not protest this time as I lift the glass to my lips and swallow the poisoned wine, almost draining it. It burns like liquid fire down my throat. Ah, loyal old Broglie has chosen a most deadly poison indeed.

_If I'm a sinner…_

_Chivalry, show me the way to go…_

"My love, you are the king of France. The b-bloodline… means n-nothing… to me… I love you…" The poison has started its work. I gasp for air. My tongue grows thick. My vision is blurring. I fall. The glass slips from my cold fingers. I feel the blood in my throat as the poison ate at my insides.

"Marie, no… I'm sorry…" I barely hear his words or feel his arms around me. It is so dark and so unbearably cold. So this is death…

Adieu, until we meet again, my beloved…

**Author's Notes:**

Another dying scene… this is depressing. The worst part about Marie's murder is that King Louis realises too late that he loves her. Royal marriage in those days was basically political in nature and love rarely comes into the equation. But the feeling I get in the anime during that dinner scene is that Marie loves her husband 110%. She knew that wine was poisoned but she drank it all the same. I'm using the ending song _'Overnight'_ for this POV. Queen Marie always struck me as a very strong character.

Outtake- Marie going through her jewellery.

Marie: Here is the pendant you gave me for my birthday.

Louis (thinking): Actually, I forgot it was your birthday and I was feeling guilty for cheating on you.

Marie: Here's pearls you gave me for our anniversary...

Louis (thinking): Was it our anniversary? I was apologizing for cheating on you again...

Marie: Oh, Louis, you're so good to me... (kisses him on cheek) Wait, is that lipstick on your collar?

Louis: Oops...


	10. King Louis XV

Disclaimer: The characters of Le Chevalier D'Eon do not belong to me. May contain spoilers for the anime.

Another royal POV. Yup, this is that pathetic loser of a king from the anime.

**King Louis XV: The Changeling**

_Abide with me; fast falls the eventide;  
__The darkness deepens; Lord, with me abide._

The doctors were horrified by the progress of my unexplained illness. My flesh rots although I am alive. It is the doing of the Psalms. All my attendants have fled, unable to bear the stench, save Broglie. However, even he isn't at my side now. Broglie lies recovering from a bullet wound, courtesy of Robin. That boy escaped the palace guards, no doubt aided by someone. Marie had intervened in that room, preventing Robin from slaying me. You should have let him kill me, Marie. Or did you intervene to spare the boy the guilt of spilling royal blood? It is a lie. My life is a lie.

I do not carry a single drop of royal blood within me, unlike my Marie. Or my two former knights, Lia and Maximilien, though they do not know this. The Sun King's blood flowed strong in Lia's veins. Despite taking after her mother in looks, her royal lineage showed through in her poise and bearing. If Lia was the sun, then Maximilien was the unobtrusive moon. Under his calm exterior, he is quick-witted and daring. It was he who negotiated beside Lia with Sir Dashwood and the Poets in England.

I knew all along Lia carried royal blood, but she posed no threat to me, being born both illegitimate and a woman. She could shine all she wanted at her missions and in the court of Versailles, bringing France's glory to the world. I can bask safely in that glory. It was the moon who threatened with his eclipsing shadow once Broglie found out about his dubious origins. He was not born a Robespierre, but brought into that household as an infant, just as I was brought into Versailles to replace the true heir.

_Who were my real parents?_ I do not know. Broglie only told me that they were long dead when I asked him that as a child and I found out I was a changeling. The Robespierres were childless when they took the infant Maximilien in. I have no name, no true family… everything is a lie hidden under the shiny veneer of Versailles.

Maximilien Robespierre had been in the Secret du Roi and a loyal knight of France for several years by then. Perhaps we should have sent him away then? Or sent Durand to kill him? I understood that Durand had a fondness for Lia… Then both Lia and Maximilien came to us seeking our blessing for their marriage. Ah, should we have looked the other way then and allowed them both to unwittingly commit the sin of incest? Perhaps we could have spoken to them… but it would mean revealing the truth.

Maximilien Robespierre would leave for Russia and die en route, a victim of an unfortunate accident. Before we could pass the orders to Durand, Maximilien fled, leaving Versailles with the Psalms. We sent Lia after him once we found out that Maximilien had kept in touch with her. We had such faith in her loyalty. It was a mistake. We should have sent Durand instead. Lia was too smart for her own good and she somehow found out about the secret. Thus her fate was sealed.

In the end, that vixen outfoxed us. I recall how she had paused on entering that confessional, as if sensing danger. I did not hesitate to stab her through the lattice. Instead of dying within the confines of the confessional, she had managed to make it before the altar and in full view of the crucified Lord. When Maximilien came for her, we could not act against him. Not in the open, not before the seeing eyes of the Lord overlooking all before him in the cathedral. We watched as he took Lia's body into his arms and left. In that moment, Maximilien turned his back on everything, God, France and perhaps even his own bloodline.

I ordered Durand to kill Lia's brother D'Eon, the vessel that held Lia's soul. That old knight and pageboy were to die as well if they knew of the secret. Naturally we had Durand's death planned if he should return to Versailles alive. I am a coward. I killed Marie despite her faithfulness to me. I killed that girl because she walked in when I was killing dear Marie. I am nothing but vermin. _I deserve death for my sins_. . I saw that reflected in Robin's blue eyes when he raised his pistol at me.

I raise the same blade that stole Lia's life to my throat. Death is much preferable to me now. I am a sinner shunned by all, a leper. Alas, the Psalms will not allow me to slit my own throat and end my life.

* * *

_When other helpers fail and comforts flee,  
__Help of the helpless, O abide with me_

To the end, Lia has protected me from Maximilien's wrath and the Gargoyle. Broglie had protected me, running Maximilien through. Thwarted and wounded, Maximilien has fled along with young Robin, whose gun has failed him. I know it was Marie's doing that Robin's pistol jammed. Again she has saved my life, to what end?

"Please, Lia… D'Eon…" Please grant me my wish and put me out of my misery… I plead with de Beaumont.

Lia looks at me thoughtfully through her brother's eyes. _Dare I hope?_ Finally, she lifts her now broken sword in salute. "Your Majesty will have to bear the will of the Psalms. Long live King Louis the Beloved, King of France, who is in God's grace…" She lowers the sword and steps out into the night. Bitch. I do suppose that after I have stolen both her life and happiness…

Both D'Eon and Lia have gone. I am left to my pain with a blinded Broglie groping about on the floor and a dead Gargoyle beside my bed. Thus I am condemned to a lingering and painful death. I will have to abdicate. Even Broglie will soon abandon me in favour of the new king Auguste. Ah, Marie, now I am truly alone… Will God grant me forgiveness and a place in Heaven with you?

**Author's Notes:**

The title is based on a common folk belief in parts of Europe in the medieval times. People used to believe that fairies would steal babies and replace them with their own babies, which are known as changelings.

_Abide with me _is another old hymn. Coincidentally, the composer of this hymn died soon after completing it from tuberculosis.

Outtake:

Maximilien and Lia standing before the altar on their wedding day. A fumbling Louis is overseeing the wedding.

Louis: I now pronounce you brother and sister...

Max and Lia: ?

Louis: Oops...


	11. Auguste

Disclaimer: The characters of Le Chevalier D'Eon do not belong to me. May contain spoilers for the anime.

I was wondering how life is like for the little Dauphin. He is closer to Anna than to his mother (I am supposing that Marie is his mother, not grandmother as would be historically accurate, Marie looks far too young to be a grandmother.)

**Auguste: Little Prince**

_I know the Father loves me  
__For he told me in the rising sun…  
__I know the Father will care for me  
__For he told me in the smile of certain someone…_

The weather has been so dreary since the funeral. I spent the entire day indoors trying to paint. My attendants tried to cheer me up with their games but it is not the same. I want to paint a sunrise but there is no sun today, only more grey rain clouds and fog. I overheard one of the guards complaining that it is as if Heaven is mourning our Queen with us.

I miss Anna's smile and her laughter. I am alone. Mother and Anna are both dead. Broglie told me D'Eon and Robin will not return, they are dead too. I do not like Broglie much. He is so stern-looking. I have not seen Father since the funeral. I rarely see him or Mother because they were the King and Queen of France and must attend to their royal duties. You see, I am Dauphin Auguste, heir to the throne of France. I don't want to be king, I have told Anna once. It is too difficult. Anna only smiles and tells me that one day I will grow into a fine king.

I try to learn but the lessons are just too difficult. I just want to play with my toys and Anna. I used to play with Mother's page, Robin, long ago. He used to piggyback me about and climb into trees to get my kite when it gets stuck. We used to play horsie, but Mother said I was growing up and getting too heavy to ride on Robin's back. Robin also needed to do his work for Mother and I shouldn't keep him from it. The last time I saw Robin, he was speaking with D'Eon, Anna's beloved, in the corridor outside Father's room. I understand they were going on a mission for the sake of France.

I was jealous of D'Eon when I heard that Anna was going to marry him one day and leave the palace. I didn't want Anna to go. But Anna loved D'Eon even though he seemed such a bore. She promised she and D'Eon would continue coming to Versailles so I could meet her, if Mother allowed it. I was looking forward to seeing Anna in her bridal gown. It was going to have white and pink roses on it, she told me. It wasn't ready yet so they buried her in her pink dress. She had been stabbed, I heard the others whisper. The maids are still trying to get her blood out of the carpet in that dining room.

Mother was poisoned. They kept her coffin lid closed because the poison had started to rot her body. I never got to see her face before they set her to rest in the royal crypt. I weep into the chair Anna once sat in. I know I shouldn't. _Big boys don't cry,_ Robin once said. That was the time I lost my temper and threw a toy horse at him. There was blood but Robin only smiled as he held a hanky to his head. I know I would have cried in his place. Mother scolded me for that. Princes shouldn't throw their toys about, especially at their servants. I like Robin. I was sorry I hurt him.

Sir D'Eon had cried for Anna. He loved her so much, much more than I do. He promised he would find out who killed Mother and Anna, and punish him for it. He wept here, right by the writing desk where she wrote her letters. It is looking less and less like Anna's room, now that she is gone. Soon, it will be Emily's room.

"Your Highness?" I wipe my tears. It is Emily, the attendant they have chosen to take Anna's place. Emily is not Anna. She sounds so bored when she reads to me. Time for bed. She will read me that same story about Sleeping Beauty again. Anna never repeats her stories unless I ask her to. Sometimes, she tells me little stories about her childhood summers spent with D'Eon and his sister. Robin used to tell me such exciting stories, until Mother told him to stop because they sometimes gave me nightmares. Robin's stories can be scary. His tales speak of the dark catacombs of Paris, knights and of past battles fought. I wonder why he has not returned to the palace yet.

* * *

_D'Eon!_ I call out but he does not hear me. He raises his candle high, seeking something, or someone, among the dusty bones. He stands in the darkness of the catacombs with his drawn sword catching the feeble candlelight. I try to warn him but the words do not come. The enemy is near, the monster who took away Anna's and Mother's life is close. He suddenly stumbles, clutching his stomach. He has been hurt. D'Eon's sword clatters to the dust. Blood stains the dust beneath him. He falls. I see the dark shadow over him. It runs him through with his sword. The good knight is dead, slain by the ogre who has already slain his princess.

No, stories aren't supposed to end this way! I run for help. I run until I see the river. Robin is there on the bridge. He is fighting with his short sword against the same monster that just killed D'Eon. His sword breaks and he falls over the side of the bridge into the river with an awful splash. I run to the bank. The current is dragging him away. Robin does not even try to swim for the shore. He bobs like a broken doll. His eyes stare unseeingly up into the clear starry sky. I believe he may be dead. The water around him has gone all red. The river drags him away into the darkness as I scream for him to come back.

* * *

I awake still screaming. It was only a nightmare. Emily does not come like Anna does when I have my nightmares. She is a much sounder sleeper than Anna. I know Mother will not be there for me. Alone, I climb out of bed. Maybe I can find Father. I pull on my dressing gown and slip on my slippers.

I have asked Broglie whether there will be a funeral for Robin and D'Eon. He only shakes his head and tells me not to worry about such small matters. I only need to know they were dead. No, it is not alright. I can still see D'Eon lying among those bones in the dark and poor Robin sinking into the river… I regret not insisting that D'Eon remain in the palace to have his wounds treated. He had been limping badly when he came for Anna's funeral… I could have asked after Robin then… perhaps…

But it was only a nightmare, wasn't it? Maybe D'Eon and Robin are still out there, hunting that monster. They're just away on a mission. One day they will return to the palace and tell me that the monster has been punished. Broglie doesn't know everything, does he? He told me that I will be king soon. How can I when Father is still king?

I walk down the corridor towards Father's bedchamber. It is late, but not that late. It strikes me that there are no servants or guards about. This is odd. _The smell!_ It stinks like the time a rat died behind Mother's dresser and no one noticed until the smell started. The smell then was not as bad as this. I pad onwards. It seems to be coming from Father's room. The door is ajar. I peer within and gasp.

The thing that sits in my father's bed… _oh God, what is it?_ It looks like a man, except his skin has gone all green and mouldy-looking and that smell!

"Where's Father? Where is he? What have you done to my father?" I shout out as I enter the room.

The wretched thing lets out a startled sob and wails. "Broglie!" I know that voice. That thing is my father. Broglie enters running from the next room. He gasps when he sees me. "Your Highness, I beg your pardon…" He takes me by the hand and hurries me out of the room and down the corridor towards my bedchamber.

"What happened to Father?" I ask. My heart sinks to my slippers.

"His Majesty is sick…"

"Then get him doctors!" I sound like a frightened child. I don't want to lose my father so soon after Mother and Anna. I will be so alone if he should…

Broglie places his hand on my shoulder. It is a rare gesture from him. "They have been sent for. Until your father recovers, you will have to rule France in his stead…" he replies. "It is late and you must get your sleep, Your Majesty…" I understand in that instant that I am king. My father will not recover. I can see that truth in Broglie's face.

"You may go back to my father. I can walk the rest of the way. _Bon nuit_," I shake his hand off my shoulder and bid him goodnight. I am not a little boy now. I must remember that. I will study hard and become a strong king, a good king. Someday when Robin and D'Eon return from their mission, they will be proud of the king I have become. I will be a good king just as Anna always believed I would become. _Someday…_

**Author's Notes:**

I started off with Auguste as a scared little boy. Somehow, he matures in the course of this fic.

I pictured Auguste growing up in the palace and Robin would probably be hanging around somewhere, since he is Queen Marie's page. It is also ironic in that Robin and D'Eon will never return. D'Eon has all but cast aside his former identity and Robin has taken on another identity altogether as a revolutionary. In fact, the historical Maximilien Robespierre (the identity Robin takes on) was a strong advocate for sending King Louis XVI (former Dauphin Auguste) to the guillotine.

Bon nuit – good night in French

Outtake:

_Many years later, French Revolution. the former dauphin is lying with his head in the guillotine with Robespierre/Robin holding the rope. _

_Auguste:_ I'm sorry about that horse.

_Robin:_ Sorry is not enough._ (takes off his hat to show a bald patch where he got hit by that toy horse so long ago)_

_He pulls the rope and- SLICE... Plop. _


	12. Belle

Disclaimer: The characters of Le Chevalier D'Eon do not belong to me. May contain spoilers for the anime.

This one is for Marie's talking skull.

**Belle: Crown of Roses**

_Ring a ring o' roses  
__A pocketful of posies  
__Atchoo, atchoo,  
__We all fall down._

I stare at my slipper, bobbing in the lake. It annoyingly bobs just out of reach of my fingers. The bank is so slippery. My foot slips. The water rushes up to meet me…

"Careful, gosling!" a voice calls out. Strong arms seize me by the waist before I tumble headlong into the depths. I see him for the first time, my White Knight. He has hair that shines like gold thread in the sunlight. "I am not a goose, I'm Belle!" I tell him. "Robespierre, whatever have you got there?" a woman's voice calls. She wears a red gown and has roses in her hands. There is another man with her, with dark hair. He is tying roses onto the punt, Mama's boat. Mama will be riding in that boat later, she told me last night. The servants will have it made so pretty and I can ride with her, she promised.

"This little one almost took a tumble into the lake. You shouldn't play too near the water, gosling. The water here is deep," he gently chides me as he sets me down on the grass. I point to my slipper. He reaches for my slipper. It is too far even for him. "Durand, lend me your sword, please…" my White Knight calls out. The other man looks up from his work. "Why?"

"Because yours is longer than mine!"

"Ah, so you are admitting your own shortcoming," the other man approaches with his sword in hand but he does not hand it over to the White Knight. His hair is so dark compared to the White Knight, so I think I'll call him the Dark Knight. He smiles.

"Sword."

"No way, the last time I lent you mine, you broke it."

"That's because you were using an inferior weapon. I bought you a new one, didn't I?"

"Robespierre, are you picking a fight?" the Dark Knight sounds angry. Ah, my White Knight has a name. His name is Rose Pierre.

"Gentlemen, cease your bickering. Let's help this little one retrieve her slipper so that we can complete this little folly before His Majesty comes along," the lady sounds angry as she comes to join us. The Red Lady takes the sword from the Dark Knight. She reaches out over the water and uses it to fish out my slipper. "_Merci_," I thank them and run off to the punt. It looks so pretty with the flowers. The three seem to be making the finishing touches.

* * *

"There, done! What shall we do with these?" the Red Lady points at the basket of leftover red roses. "Wear them in your hair, Lia," the Dark Knight says. "I'm sure you'll look divine, more so than that Pompadour."

"Quit it, Durand. Oh, not you too, Maximilien Robespierre…" the Red Lady scowls. The White Knight has woven a little crown from the roses. "You put that on me and I swear you both will be swimming in the lake!" She laughs and runs away. The White Knight and Dark Knight chases her around playfully. They are playing tag. I join them laughing. Mama hardly plays with me now. I tumble onto the grass. I never had so much fun before.

Mama is here. She looks so beautiful in her new dress and all the ribbons… She does not call to me. My new friends bow to the man she is with. He is the king of France. The king and Mama get into the punt and they are out on the lake. I am left with my new friends on the lakeside. "That's that. We should go back," the Dark Knight makes to leave. "Durand, you have to admit it is a welcome change from our usual work," Rose Pierre says. "Lia brought a picnic basket…" he smiles and looks at me. "I think our little goose can join us too." The Red Lady nods. She is holding a large basket.

"I wish I am as pretty as Mama," I say as I watch the punt out on the lake. "One day you will be, Belle," the Red Lady places the roses on my head. "The little goose will become a swan." The picnic is over. "Bye, Ma'am, Sir Durand, Sir Rose Pierre," I wave to my White Knight. He waves back. Mama and the king are coming ashore. I must go. I run to Mama with a crown of roses on my head.

* * *

"Belle, I told you to stay away from the lake," the White Knight murmurs in shock. _I listened to you, Sir Rose Pierre. I really did. Belle is a good girl._ My new friends are standing with me at the lakeside. We are not alone. There are other nobles and their attendants with us, all looking at the lake.

I don't know why I am looking at myself lying in the lake. I am still wearing the dress I wore at the picnic. My skirts fan out in the water like swans' wings. I look like a doll with that red ribbon around my neck. The roses have come loose from my hair and are floating around me. My eyes are open and staring up into the sky. "Get her out quickly," a woman with brown hair orders. Queen Marie. I have seen her before from afar. "The punt," Rose Pierre points to the punt with its fading flowers. The two of them fish my lifeless corpse out, Sir Rose Pierre and Sir Durand. I will never grow up.

Marie has been so kind to me but she is not Mama. She is Auguste's mama and queen of France. I help her best I can. I can't recall how Mama looks like now. Marie promises me I will meet my mother soon. Things have changed. Lia is dead but her soul lives within her brother. Her soul does not speak to me. She is too wrapped in her sorrow and angry for that. Sir Durand, the Dark Knight, is dead and at peace. Only Queen Marie and Sir Rose Pierre still speak to me now. Queen Marie carries me around with her. Now she brings me to meet Mama…

"Hello, Mama…" I see Mama's face. _Wait, I remember now…_

* * *

"You lied to me, Mama… You told me were going boating, just the two of us," I was so angry.

"Sorry, Belle," Mama was busy combing her hair before the mirror. "I wish we were back to the way we were…" I pouted. She took a brush from her drawer. "Sorry, Belle. Here, would you like to sit on my lap and let me comb your hair?"

"Yes, please!" I climbed onto her lap. She looked at the roses in my hair and smiled. "Such pretty roses. Who gave them to you?"

"The White Knight and his friends," I answered. "I want to grow up to be as pretty as Mama!"

"Here's a pretty red ribbon for you, Belle," Mama took out a ribbon from the table. "It goes with the roses so well. I will tie it around your neck…"

_Mama! Too tight!_ I gasped for breath. _I could not…_I died.

* * *

_Why? Why, Mama?_ Mama killed me. "Sorry, Belle. It was for the good of France…"

Mama now raises me high in the air. She will smash me and Belle will be gone for good. _NO!_

"_In the name of vengeance, O Lord, please take this child into your care…" _Mama's neck snaps like a dry twig. She flops to the floor and I roll across the carpet, until I come to a stop beside his boot. He picks me up. "Hello, Belle." He looks so tired and sad. I know he is sad because of Lia, the Red Lady.

"Sir Rose Pierre, will you do me a favour?" I ask. He nods. "Please put me in Mama's lap. I want to be with Mama always." He props Mama up in a chair and places me on her lap. Her head is a bit crooked but I suppose it can't be helped. Her neck is broken after all. "Rose Pierre? Will you smile again when Lia's soul returns to you?" I ask. He does not reply but leaves the room.

Farewell, my White Knight.

I am content. _Mama and I will be together forever…_

**Author's Notes:**

Rose Pierre is Belle's childish mispronunciation of Max's name. The anime never quite explained why Pompadour killed her daughter. Or why it was for the good of France. I wanted to peer into that but I ended up with an insight into the Durand, Max and Lia friendship through Belle's eyes instead. I guess she should be about Auguste's age or younger when she died.

A historical anecdote from China tells a concubine who strangled her own little daughter in order to frame a rival in the imperial palace. The 'distraught' lady in this instance made a very dramatic entrance by walking in with her child's corpse in the middle of a court session and having the Emperor hold his dead child. After that, the imperial court and harem went through one hell of a bloody purge while the concubine became Empress. Oh, did I mention that the same lady had a few of her other children killed later? Major Medea-complex at work.

Outtake:

_Maximilien:_ Okay, what is my name again?

_Belle (in innocent voice):_ Rose Pierre!

_Durand:_ Suits you, doesn't it? Now, shall we call you Rose or Pierre?


	13. Cagliostro

Disclaimer: The characters of Le Chevalier D'Eon do not belong to me. May contain spoilers for the anime.

This one is for that dodgy alchemist character who is always with Lorenza. He mentioned turning a comedy into a grand tragedy. I guess he got his desired outcome at the end of the anime, but what next? This is an extension of what happens after Robin runs after that coach.

**Cagliostro: Le Grande Theatre**

_Out, out, brief candle!  
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player,  
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,  
And then is heard no more._

Lorenza is sobbing a little. She always was fond of him. This time it is for real. He isn't coming back. _Finis._ Curtains down. Here's when the actors comes out to take a bow. Pah, some fine tragic comedy this has turned out to be. Ah well, the Psalms are still about… I turn the corner at a steady speed. Exit stage left. Our new actor tears away from his companion, that French knight de Beaumont. He comes running after our coach, the book in hand. I do not slow for him. He runs alongside, reaching out to open the door. He clambers on board unassisted. Ah, he is full of the vigour of youth.

If there was one thing I could not stand about Maximilien, it was his lethargy. After that woman died, he lost all his vitality. He became almost a shadow of his former self. If he had not been so afflicted by his loss, he would have triumphed over Dashwood the first time round. He may have even gotten out of this latest endeavour alive. Alas, without his beloved, our tragic hero is doomed to failure. Such a clichéd plot…

Maximilien had entrusted the Psalms to him. Our late master somehow knew that he was not the one who would bring about change, not without his woman, Lia. His first choice was his knight friend, too bad that one wasn't keen on it and ended up dead. Then it was the man who served as vessel for his woman's soul. That one has as much drive as a dead fish without that woman's soul to prod him. This young one has fire in his eyes, a promising sign.

* * *

We stop at an inn on the outskirts of the city. The newest member of our troupe is very young, almost too young to lead. But maybe that will be to our advantage. He will have time to learn and grow. We will be able to shape him in the fashion that will best serve our purposes. This time the world will change…

He wolfs down the food we set before him. A growing boy needs his nourishment after all. After he has finished his meal, he sets the book on the table. "This is now the Psalms of the Revolution. The Royal Psalms are no more." We see it has changed. He takes out a silver pocket watch from his coat and looks at it. "It is rather late, we could start tomorrow…"

"As you wish, Sir…" I pause and wait. We never really caught his name. I believe it may be Robbie or something. After all, this one was just a page, a mere servant, unlike our late master.

"Maximilien Robespierre," he replies to my unasked question. "I will take on his name as well as his mantle. I will bring about the change France needs. And do drop that Sir part."

Ah, a bright lad. Still, it will take some work to transform him from a mere servant to a leader people will follow. That hair must change. Pageboy cut is a no-no. He will have to wear his hair longer. The clothes he wears are serviceable but he will need a new wardrobe. Both Lorenza and I have work to do.

* * *

"You are too skinny and short to boot," Lorenza scowls as the tailor measured the lad. "You should be thankful we are even spending anything on you." We have decided to have his clothes made first thing in the morning after breakfast. Lorenza is disappointed with our late master's choice of an heir. I can read the resentment in her voice. Perhaps she expected an older, more experienced man to take on his mantle. I believe my companion once entertained fancies of being the lead actress in this play. Alas for her, the deceased Maximilien Robespierre already had his leading lady in that de Beaumont bitch and not even her demise could persuade him to offer Lorenza more than a bit role in the grand scheme.

"I will grow, wouldn't I? Besides, think of the money you will save on the cloth," Maximilien retorts as the old tailor measures his waist. "I am sure what you spend on your face exceeds this paltry sum spent here, Madame…"

"Little brat!" Lorenza hisses. "Lorenza, dear… now, now…" I restrain my hot-tempered companion. The boy has a tart tongue in his head. The old Maximilien hardly spoke unless necessary and he was fairly polite when he did. It must be his upbringing. "You have the figure of a little skinny girl," Lorenza snaps back. "Your ample breasts are falling out of that little rag you call a dress, ma'am. Perhaps you need more cloth?" the boy parries coolly as he straightens his collar. The brown outfit and matching three-corner hat he now wears has given him an almost rakish look. Yes, he has a kind of charisma. We can really use that. He will be a student or a scribe. He will find employment in a suitable post and work his way back into society as a new person.

"Cagliostro! Must we travel with him?" Lorenza stomps her foot petulantly and points at our newest member. Maximilien is chatting with the tailor's apprentice, a boy his age. I overhear the apprentice bemoan the ever-ncreasing price of bread. Ah, he is already sounding out the people, gauging their opinion. I raise my hands in mock surrender. "He has the Psalms, my dear… unless you wish to be rid of your powers…" I whisper into her ear.

"Fine, but I refuse to share a coach with that foul-mouthed gutter rat," Lorenza pouts. She can be so amusingly charming in her own way.

"You can ride on the box with me." This suggestion elicited more protests from her. I know Lorenza hates riding on the box. She likes sitting pretty inside pretending she is some noblewoman. _Silly female._ I believe that is why the lad has been baiting her since breakfast.

"Cagliostro, I believe we are done here. You will drop by on Wednesday for my clothes, wouldn't you?" Maximilien steps out of the tailor's and throws on his coat. He is starting to grow into his role. The tone of his voice has changed. It now contains a hint of command. "Of course," I reply. I see he is looking at that silver watch again. For I moment, I think I see something in his face. But it passes swiftly like the shadow of a cloud.

Ah, I see him in the instant: a cheeky brat for now, future revolutionary leader and something else, which I cannot be sure.

"I will ride beside you. We have so much to discuss," he eagerly climbs up beside me on the box. His eyes are bright as he grasps the book in his right hand. "We will bring change to France, I know it."

"You are too rash and eager, young man," I warn him as I crack the reins. Open discussion of revolution in these times can be dangerous. The king's spies still haunt the city. He nods in agreement. For now, he will yield to our wisdom in such matters while he learns the ropes. The horses plod off steadily.

He will never be the blond aristocratic Maximilien Robespierre we knew. No, not this one. This one is as fiery as the red copper of his hair and as tough as the streets of this godforsaken city. He will serve well enough to realize the Revolutionary Order's vision. We can shape him all we want for now, but one day, even we may not be enough to control him. Ah well…

_All the world's a stage  
__And all the men and women merely players_

Sound the bell. All to their parts and raise the curtain. Let the grand play of life begin…

**Author's Notes: **

Thus starts the transformation of Robin pageboy into Maximilien Robespierre, revolutionary.

The title of this chapter is not really French, though it may look like it is. I thought Cagliostro and Lorenza are like actors themselves, playing different roles under different identities. Hence the title. The quotes are from Shakespeare's plays.

Robin does have a somewhat cheeky side to him, though Durand seems to be on the receiving end of that wit for much of the time. I figured that he must be quite smart for his age for Queen Marie to entrust him with such dangerous missions. And Durand later recognizes his potential as well and kind of takes him under his wing, finally giving his precious watch to him.

One of the many reasons that culminated in the French Revolution was the increasing prices of necessities such as bread due to the collapse of the French economy due to poor management by King Louis XV and later his heir.

Outtake:

Unhappy customer: Your shampoo made my hair fall out!

Cagliostro: May I interest Madame in a wig? Made in Milan...


	14. Lorenza

Disclaimer: The characters of Le Chevalier D'Eon do not belong to me. May contain spoilers for the anime.

I wondered what type of relationship Maximilien has with Cagliostro and Lorenza. They appear to be his most loyal supporters. Somehow, I get the feeling that they aren't all too keen on the revolution. He's just there to gain some advantages. Lorenza's motivations are more complex. She seems to be constantly about Cagliostro but…

**Lorenza:**** Tarot Danse Macabre**

_To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,  
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,  
To the last syllable of recorded time;  
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools  
The way to dusty death._

Of course I am peeved. I have reason to. Maximilien Robespierre, you jerk! You die on us, not once, but twice. The first time I managed to get you back. I am not wasting my effort this time, even if we could get hold of your body. Why the hell did you give me the power of the Psalms in the first place? Was it because _she_ turned you down? I should have known it was too good to be true when you asked me to join your cause. It was because that bitch Lia would rather play her loyal knight of France than your revolutionary. I drew the _Lovers _card for you then. Thwarted love was your fate.

You know something? I was glad when you turned up that day with that bitch dead in your arms. I offered to help with laying out the corpse to make sure she really is dead and gone. Then that bitch's soul has the gall to remain earth-bound for you to chase after like some sick hound. Let me remind you that the vessel containing her soul is her brother and he hates your guts. I do believe he is as straight as an arrow and does not appreciate your special attentions one whit.

Damn you nobles and your twisted games. Why couldn't you two just elope in the first place and get it over with? Skip town and get hitched in Naples or Cologne. Believe me, it would have been a good deal neater and better for everyone. No, you had to cling to your stupid pride. Damn you two, burn in Hell.

I thought I saw a ghost earlier this evening in the street. Fair curls, red velvet gown… Then I realized it was not her, but the other one. I watched from the inn's windows as he haggled with the driver for his coach. He looked like a cheap streetwalker in that get-up. Finally, he handed over a small pouch of coins to the driver and climbed on board. The coach rode off into the fog.

"Lorenza?" I look up from my drink. "Have you been touching my wine again?" my companion asks. "Yes, dear" I chuck the remainder of the liquid in my cup into his face. "Lorenza, that's a new shirt!" Cagliostro wipes his shirt front in alarm. The stain only spreads deep red on white linen.

"Yes, I noticed that," I purr. My partner is such an idiot.

"Lorenza, you know we have to make this work…"

I laugh. "You mean our sham marriage or that poor excuse Maximilien Robespierre chose as his heir?" Our marriage was a joke. My dear husband-in-name has his flag at half-mast at the best of times. Can I be blamed for seeking my pleasure in other men's beds? Of course the only one that meant something to me apparently liked his women boyish. That flat-chest bitch has the hips of a boy. No amount of me flashing my cleavage could get his interest. Looking back, I feel like such a fool.

"I mean the revolution." Ah, he admits our marriage is kaput. At least we can keep our partnership. "You never were the dutiful wife kind. But after receiving the Psalms' power, you have changed." Yes, the Psalms change those they touch.

"Are we making a move yet? I do believe we have an appointment in an hour's time," the brat calls out. We did not notice him entering the room. The redhead gets out his watch and leans lazily against the door post. The book is in his other hand. I see he has his pistol tucked in his belt. There is a gleam of danger in his eyes and poise. He is more confident now. The Psalms have changed him too.

"Have you read the speech I've prepared?" my partner almost trips over himself in his eagerness. "Read it, burned it. Your speech is outdated, old man," the cocky brat replies. "I have a better one which will appeal to the masses." I shuffle my tarot deck and draw a card. _Death. Renewal._ Yes, it is the end of an adventure and the start of another for me. The cards slip from my grasp and scatter on the floor. I see the Fool card smiling at me beside the Devil. _Innocence and Temptation._

* * *

Looking back now, the boy's speech then moved the crowd better than any drivel Cagliostro could have cooked up. Cagliostro died of drink last summer. The grand adventure is over for him. I am older now and hopefully wiser. My hair has greyed and no face cream or lotion can hide the lines on my face. I walk down the street to the building where he is. I have read my tarot cards after breakfast. I feel an urge to drop by on him. I have drawn the Death card again. I watch as another cart of condemned prisoners trundled past on their way to the guillotine. I stop before the building where Maximilien Robespierre has his office. _The Tower card, a sudden fall…_

We have drifted apart naturally after he fell in with the other revolutionaries of the Jacobin Club. Those men were too fiery even for the likes of Cagliostro to manage. Trouble is brewing. I spy a knot of young men whispering outside. I see a gleam of bayonets, knives and pistols. I have not used the power of the Psalms in a while. They have yet to fade from my body. This Maximilien did not need my kind of power. The sparks he set that night so long ago have flared into the inferno of revolution. King Louis XVI lost both his crown and life. His queen followed him to the guillotine shortly after. _In the name of fraternity, equality and liberty…_ The fire has taken hold of France. Now it seems they will devour Maximilien Robespierre himself.

I will not enter the building. Instead I whisper a poem. The little robin hopping about the lintel shall be my eyes. The bird peers through the open window. I see what it sees.

I recognize him by his copper-red hair and slight built. He never really grew much since we first met. I never really liked this Maximilien. He was too cheeky a lad for my liking. Now, he seems a good deal older than he should be. Grey-faced, he sits at his table. Papers lay scattered over the tabletop and floor. He has a bloody reputation, this one, much bloodier than the first one. Sent a good many of his fellow revolutionaries to the guillotine. It is no surprise he is alone now.

I see he has before him on the table his silver pocket watch and the damned book. It has never left his side. He fiddles with his pistol, sombrely waiting for the inevitable. He knows what is coming. Finally he picks up his pocket watch and places it into his coat pocket. The book he clutches to his chest. He cocks his pistol.

The fellows outside are making their move. The door is kicked in. Maximilien leaps to his feet. Startled, the robin flees for the sky. The spell is broken. I hear a gunshot from the room above. There are shouts. I watch as they drag him out into the street. There is blood all over his shirt and face. His head lolls like a broken puppet's. I do not know if he is dead or alive. Someone shouts for a doctor. They will not be denied the spectacle of a public execution. Maximilien is carried away. The book slips from his bloodied fingers. Unnoticed by the revolutionaries, the book hits the cobblestones.

I have no desire to touch that accursed book. Instead, I wait in the shadows of a doorway and watch. The ruckus dies down and the street is calm again.

_Grey goose and grey gander  
__Weft your wings together  
__Carry the good king's daughter  
__Over the wide, wide water…_

A child's voice recites a rhyme in English. A young girl trots up and curiously picks it up. She is not bothered by the poor condition of the book. She opens the cover and studies the page. Dressed in drab brown and grey, she looked like a bright-eyed sparrow. "Libby! What have you there, Liberty Franklin?" an owlish-looking man strides up to her side. "A book, Uncle Ben," the little girl passes the book to her guardian. The man opens the book and blinks. He cleans his glasses and looks again. He skims through a few pages before calling over his shoulder to a nearby coach excitedly. "John, Abby, come take a look at this book!"

"Bring it over, Franklin. I'm not lingering here in this bloody city a day longer now our business is done. We have time enough at sea to read that," a grey-wigged man sticks his head out of the coach. A grey-bonneted woman peers out curiously beside him. She calls to the girl. "Get in, Libby. We'll miss the ship back to Boston if we don't hurry. Come on, Ben…" The owlish man shrugs and passes the book back to the girl. He hoists the child into his arms and returns to his companions. The coach thunders off into the night with both the Psalms and their new holder. _Over the wide, wide water._ I shuffle my cards. _Temperance_, perhaps the Psalms will sing a kinder tune across the water.

I smile. A burden has been lifted from my shoulders. The book no longer concerns me. I walk away. I will return to my birthplace in Italy or perhaps settle in Marseilles where the French climate is kinder. Ah, the Merry Widow of Marseilles… that is a thought.

**Author's Notes:**

I am taking a lot of liberties (pardon the pun) here with history. The end of the anime seems to suggest that the Psalms of the Revolution somehow crossed the ocean to the New World and triggered the American Revolution. Of course, the timeline is wrong here. The American War of Independence took place before the French Revolution did. King Louis XVI sent military aid to the colonists which helped them turn the tide of the war. I am putting in a historical figure (Benjamin Franklin) from American history to carry the Psalms over the water.

The tarot cards Lorenza draws or uses in this fic are Death, Lovers, Fool, Devil, Tower and Temperance.

What do you think?

Outtakes:

Robin: Lorenza, are you trying to make a quick buck from my demise?

Lorenza: What makes you think that? (turns around and starts her hawking) Front row seats to Robin's execution. Clear view guaranteed!


	15. Elizaveta

Disclaimer: The characters of Le Chevalier D'Eon do not belong to me. May contain spoilers for the anime.

This is a change of scenery to St Petersburg, Russia.

This is a blend of historical fact and fiction, just as the anime is.

**Elizaveta: My Father's Daughter**

I stop before the portrait of Lia de Beaumont. I have met her brother earlier in the evening at the masquerade ball. Amazing how alike and unlike they are. Hard to believe that she is dead, just like that. Snuffed out like a candle. You were so alive, Lia. You reminded me of myself when I was younger.

"We almost became sisters-in-law, Lia…" I smile dryly. I was betrothed once, to King Louis XV of France. As much Lia would deny it, she was a child of the Sun King, just as I am a daughter of Emperor Pytor the Great. We are our fathers' daughters… I noticed the likeness in that defiant look in her eyes when I first met her. They were too like those portrayed in the portraits of the Sun King I have seen in the French embassy in my youth. My Papa saw to it that my engagement was dissolved the moment he set his heart on me succeeding him. He was not going to lose me to France.

Papa was a giant of a man, dark-haired, strong and energetic. He built fair St Petersburg in the marshes upon the bones of hundreds of serfs, soldiers and prisoners. Once he set his mind on something, nothing could dissuade him. Heaven help all who defy him. The Tsarevich Alexei, my poor half-brother, was nothing like Papa. He disappointed Papa and Papa ordered him to be whipped. A hundred lashes daily till the following Sunday. Ah, poor Alexei's health was always questionable to start with. We buried him on Wednesday morning. Papa never attended the funeral but I saw him weep quietly in his room afterwards.

He sacrificed Alexei for the good of Mother Russia, my mother explained. Poor Papa's only son did not have the energy or drive to move Russia into the future. As long as he lived, no other heir could be chosen. I wondered then who Papa had chosen. He chose me, a little girl barely seven. I was not to marry or bear children. Alexei's infant son Pytor would be my heir. They say I have Papa's fire and spirit in me.

Papa had me educated in the military arts as well as diplomacy. How to rule the hearts and lives of the people of Russia. For Russia, I had to put aside any aspirations of matrimony. Mother Russia will never accept a foreign prince as their Tsar. "Leave it all to Elizaveta!" Papa had declared with his final breath. The boyars were not keen being ruled by a woman. I was fifteen then and while other noblewomen were occupied finding husbands at balls, I was fighting off assorted uncles and cousins eager to wrest the throne from me. Thankfully, Papa had seen to it that I have many supporters in the army, old veterans who respected him immensely.

"Be bold, be resolute, Elizaveta. And bloody if need be," he had told me once as he smashed a wood axe into a traitor's back. That man was once a trusted captain under him. Papa hacked him to pieces for daring to support a coup by the boyars against him. Papa got blood all over his face and clothes. I swore then that I will not be bloody as Papa was. I have kept my promise. Siberia is big and cold enough a prison for any criminal.

Now I feel tempted to break that promise. Vorontsov, I trusted you yet… _Can you be the one responsible for her death?_ He has been avoiding me since he returned from France. I have to admit that he was never fond of Lia. We have drifted apart in the time Lia was here. Lia was honest and a true friend. God knows there are few enough about me. Many of the old soldiers loyal to Papa have passed on. Few could recall how things were before Papa started his reforms. I want to carry on those reforms and make our motherland a great nation.

_Tovarisch._ I once called him that when I first started my education in the military arts. Papa assigned his father to tutor me in riding and Vorontsov often accompanied us. Vorontsov insisted on calling me Grand Duchess. Quite a mouthful. He used to sing the folk song _Silver Birch_ when riding through the birch forest outside the army amp. When I was ten, I thought he was the best singer around.

_Silver birch alone in the meadow…_

_Standing alone in the meadow…_

It was a rather sad song, and it describes my feelings now. They say I have many lovers. My one true love is Russia. My youth, my heart and soul all for Russia. Yet some nights, I wonder how it is to love and be loved. Lia made me see that, cruel child she was. She was a girl in love. She would sneak off alone with her letters and sigh over them. I wonder who could have won her heart so fully. I envied her. She should have married the man of her dreams, had children. I would love to be godmother to Lia's children, take them hunting in the Russian forests… but she was a loyal Frenchwoman through and through. Her heart was in France.

Vorontsov, you would've liked Lia if you took the time to get to know her. She's every bit as loyal to her country as you are to Russia. If you did have a hand in her death… ah, tovarisch, do I have to get out Papa's axe and block for your sake? Blood never washes out… Like the silver birch, I will be so alone.

* * *

_Pytor, you imbecile…_ You had to inherit all the worst traits of your father, my incompetent brother, Alexei. I will deal with you later. I never thought Ekaterina had that much courage in her to approach de Beaumont's companions to warn them of my assassination. Thus I have been spared. Perhaps I have misjudged her. I see little enough of her, considering Pytor beats her up bad enough for her to be excused from attending court on most days. When she does show up, she normally sports bruises on her face. I should have interfered in this matter a long time ago except the Church deems it a man's right to discipline his wife.

I will have to change the law on that… I step into the room where they are waiting. _It only takes a spark to get a fire going._ I have seen that spark in Ekaterina when I spoke with her. I will nurse that tiny spark into a beacon for the Motherland's future. Ekaterina, not Pytor the idiot, will be my heir. I stand before my selected council. Here is the future of Russia.

The cold silence hits me. My 'lovers' are normally a chatty lot, eager to put forward new ideas for the Motherland's progress. Now, they are simply sitting dull-eyed in their chairs… _What's wrong?_ I see him then. Blond and pale, he stands in the shadows. _Who are you?_ His eyes are as cold and desolate as the icy wastelands of Siberia. Those eyes, they are so like and unlike Lia's. He is a child of the Sun King and has inherited his sire's ruthlessness.

I am to die here. _Thus lived Elizaveta, Empress of all Russia._

**Author's Notes:**

Maximilien seemed to have remarked when he was killing her that Elizaveta was Louis' former fiancée. Historically, Elizaveta's father did try to arrange a marriage for her with the future King Louis XV but the talks fell through.

Fact – Empress Elizaveta was the daughter of Emperor Pytor the Great. Her half-brother and then heir-apparent was literally whipped to death on their father's orders. Her father never managed to name an heir so the boyars (Russian nobles) named her cousin as Empress. Elizaveta came to power after a coup to oust her cousin. She was not the first female monarch in Russia, but she was one of the most well-loved and influential. She never married but was rumoured to have a number of lovers. No one was sentenced to death during her reign, a welcome change from her predecessors. She was succeeded by her nephew, Pytor. Then Pytor's wife Ekaterina ousted him and was rumoured to have him killed while under house arrest.

Outtake:

Elizaveta: Voronstov! (holding an axe) Where're you?

Voronstov sees her coming and thinks she is going to kill him. He runs.

Elizaveta: Where's he gone? I was about be give him an axe to replace the one he broke last week.


	16. Vorontsov

Disclaimer: The characters of Le Chevalier D'Eon do not belong to me. May contain spoilers for the anime.

Voronstov is another Russian that I think warrants a closer look at. There is a suggestion in the way he reacts that he is dedicated to the Empress, yet he was part of the attempt to assassinate her.

**Vorontsov: For the Motherland **

The assassination is a success. We enter the dacha. The first body we come across is that of a young servant boy. He lies sprawled at the foot of the stairs. I see that he had been carrying fruits for the table when he fell. Pears are scattered around him. She always liked pears, brought all the way from the orchards south of the Empire.

The other two bodies are in the upstairs dining room. I glare distastefully at her dead lover. He is no doubt young and good-looking, the type that would catch her fancy. He lies at the far end of the room. His back is towards us and I am glad to see that bloody wound in his back. The coward probably tried to run. She is lying on her back, her eyes demurely closed. The front of her bodice is soaked with blood. A trickle of blood shows at the corner of her lips. A sword lies discarded beside her corpse.

I pick it up. I see the blood on the blade, her blood.

"The ladies-in-waiting have fled through the back… shall we give chase?" a guard asks. I nod. We cannot have any witnesses to this deed. The guards thunder off. My fellow assassins are also leaving the scene. We will have to announce her death to the country.

"Ah, it is all for the good of Mother Russia, my Empress… if only…" I whisper to no one in particular. I take the sword and leave. _Thus lived Empress Elizaveta of Russia_. Forgive me, my lady.

* * *

Emperor Pytor the Great is dead. "Leave it all to Elizaveta," he had gasped out his final wish before death overtook him. The entire Russian court was horrified then. It had never been done before in the grand history of Mother Russia. A woman to sit upon the throne. Elizaveta soon proved her worth. She was very bit her father's daughter. _Tovarisch,_ she used to call me when she was still a little girl in pigtails. She was following her father's example. Pytor the Great fought alongside his men and lead them into battle. We all respected him for that. Elizaveta was one of the people, the common sons of Mother Russia.

Yet there are some boundaries that cannot be crossed. The Tsar is the ruler, the boyars his servants. The peasants and serfs are the lowest strata of society, little better than cattle. A man's home is his castle. His wife and children's lot is to obey him. Your father broke the rules. He made generals of common serf-born soldiers and knighted peasants as he fancied. We have to admit, he had a knack for seeing talent even in the lowliest places.

You were his daughter, my lady. You had his keen eye. But you took it too far. You were smitten the moment you set eyes on that French wench, Lia de Beaumont! I can tolerate your escapades with various young nobles, even soldiers. But that Frenchwoman really was too much!

"A masquerade ball, every Tuesday night, wouldn't that be fun?" she had clapped her hands like an excited child when that bitch suggested it. "Here's the catch. The men will go as women and the women will go as men! Oh, Vorontsov, you will enjoy it…" It was the first time in a long while I heard her laugh. Elizaveta had such a musical laugh. Sorry, my lady. I must decline your invitation. There was no way I was shaving my beard off and wearing petticoats.

I saw that innocent mask slip then on Lia's face. I saw the face of a calculating French vixen. I warned you, my lady, but you will not listen. No, you were too proud for that, tovarisch.

Have you forgotten what happened back then when you first came to the throne and your black-hearted cousin tried to kill you? I raised my sword in your defence then. Alas, you were grievously wounded when the gunpowder they planted under your coach ignited. We thought you dead when we pulled you out of the wreck. Your driver and personal guards were blown to pieces. God preserved your life then. On waking, you asked me if you will walk again, or have children. The doctors had told me that you will walk again but must never expect children.

I fretted over how to break such ill news to you. When I finally did, you only smiled bravely and said. "I see God does not intend me to be a mother of any one child, but of all Russia." There were tears in your eyes then. You soundly berated me over why I had taken so long to break the news to you. "Be truthful to me, tovarisch…" you said then. You became godmother to a good many children, my lady, both noble and peasant-born. You built schools to educate them in the ways of the West.

You were enchanted with Lia. She had you wound round her little finger. I tried to warn you. You did not heed my warnings. Not all things from the West are good for Russia. We are nothing like the immoral French. Cross-dressing, giving rights to women… preposterous!

I was delighted when I learnt she was returning to France. You gave her a good many jewels as a parting gift. I rejoiced when I learnt of her demise in Paris.

Then her brother, the splitting image of her, turns up in St Petersburg. A curse on you and your kin, de Beaumont. Our Empress was smitten by him as much as by his bitch of a sister. One would expect her to have him whipped if not thrown out of the palace for offering her an empty box.

* * *

I step into my room. I hear my fellow conspirators discussing how to break the news to the court in the next room. I overhear Pytor's drunken rants about his aunt. I shudder to think that we are entrusting our Motherland to such an imbecile. Never mind him. The boyars will keep him in check. We will return to the good old days when Russia was proud and mighty. We no longer need to slavishly ape the West.

The serfs have tidied up my room. I see a bottle of red wine on the table, alongside a bowl of golden pears. Without thinking, I pick up a fruit and bite into it. The juice is sweet on my tongue. I peer out into the street lit by the midnight sun. It is the height of the Russian summer and the sun will shine for most of the night. The children of the city are making full use of the white night to gambol in the streets.

_I have a little nut tree, nothing will it bear  
__But a silver nutmeg and a golden pear…  
__The king of Spain's daughter came to visit me  
__All for the sake of my little nut tree…_

A young girl with blond pigtails skips past singing a song in a foreign tongue. She is most likely a foreigner, yet she looks Russian in the same instant. Her companion, an older lad, seems to be Russian born and bred. He scurries after her the way I used to ride after Elizaveta when we were younger and she would ride off into the forests on a whim. My father would send me after her without fail. He has his arms full of pears. They are dropping onto the cobblestones as he runs. "Wait up!" the lad calls in Russian. "Hurry up, tovarisch!" she tosses her reply over her shoulder, giggling. She stops so he catches up. Both children run off together, laughing merrily.

I drop the half-eaten pear. Its sweetness now disgusts me. Instead I pour out a glass of wine. I can't drink it. The red of the wine reminds me of her blood staining her dress.

The children's laughter drifts in on the wind. She would have enjoyed hearing that. She always loved children. The young are the future, she always said. Can you hear the children laughing in heaven? I do not know if I can laugh again. For the Motherland, you have laid down your life, my lady… I pray that will be consolation enough for your soul…

**Author's Notes: **

Vorontsov is very tormented when he thought the Empress was dead. Later Teillagory remarked that the Russian is a conflicted soul. On one hand, he wants to do what he thinks is best for Russia, yet he wants to stay loyal to his Empress. I let them sort of grow up together, then drifting apart as they get older. Somehow, he sort of clings to his old memories of Elizaveta in the end.

Tovarisch – comrade or partner in Russian.

Outtake:

Lia: Immoral French? (fuming)

Vorontsov: If falling in love with your own brother (Max) isn't immoral, then what is?

D'Eon: Hey quit picking on my sis… we didn't know Maximilien was related! She's not immoral.

Vorontsov: This coming from a man in a dress, I find hard to believe.


	17. Ekaterina

Disclaimer: The characters of Le Chevalier D'Eon do not belong to me. May contain spoilers for the anime.

One thing that struck me about Ekaterina is how swiftly she comes into her own. She's the battered wife when we first see her, then she finds the courage to approach 2 total strangers to warn the Empress. Finally, she becomes Empress Elizaveta's successor after ousting her own husband and ordering his execution. Tough lady, maybe she had a little 'help'. The historical Ekaterina was rumoured to have her husband murdered by his guards while he was under house arrest.

**Ekaterina: Iron Lily**

_On St Swithin's day if it shall rain,_

_Forty days it shall remain._

I awoke to a late-season thunderstorm lashing at my windows. It had rained heavily the day I was wed to the future heir of Russia. It was a most inauspicious start to our life together. Pytor was so drunk that two guards had to prop him up at the altar while the priest mumbled through the rites. After we exchanged our vows, he tried to kiss the bridesmaid. The wedding night was a sham. I went to bed alone while he caroused with his friends till sunrise. The honeymoon was miserable, spoilt by the unceasing rain. He hung about long enough to introduce me to his fists and boots, sire his heir on me before heading for the nearest bordello or gambling den.

If I could, I would have packed my bags then and left for home. Except my father would not welcome me back. I was to tie my royal family with the Romanovs through marriage. All I could do was to endure and submit like a dutiful wife. When his son was born, I almost died in the birthing bed and Pytor was out drinking, gambling and whoring. They took the child from me as I was ill with childbirth fever. When I recovered, Pytor decided he didn't want a squalling baby under his roof so his aunt had to arrange for a wet nurse to care for my son in a separate house. I have no affection for that child that I bore. He should be five or six now. They say he takes after his father. He is in good hands, they reassured me. Empress Elizaveta would see that he was properly cared for and educated.

I toss on my dressing gown and step out into the hallway. It is so dark. Empress Elizaveta is dead, murdered by those she trusted. A pall of darkness is falling over the Empire. I am a foreigner nonetheless, a German princess wed into the family. I do not know how many of the boyars will stand by me. I do know a fair number stood on the side of my husband.

Elizaveta had called me her friend and apologized for not noticing my pain sooner. Those words meant everything to me. I thought I was alone, I was not. I had my servants who would risk Pytor's wrath to protect me. Many of them had followed me loyally since I first stepped on Russian soil. I had found the courage to warn the late Empress of danger though the Frenchmen. I was glad I did. Yet my efforts seem to be for nought. Whatever should I do with that miserable worm? I had given my word not to send him to Siberia… yet to have him languish in a prison or under house arrest…

My servants had retired to their beds. I walk down the hall and step into the drawing room. I am surprised to see the lone flame of a candle and a pale face framed by blond locks. _Lia de Beaumont._ I gasp in shock. I had seen her before at a reception hosted by Empress Elizaveta. I envied her then, so close was her friendship with Elizaveta. The first thought that comes to my mind is _wilis_. They are the earthbound souls of ill-fated girls who chose death rather than wed someone other than their beloved. I have heard whispers of such tales from my Russian servants. I have overheard that Lia's death was mysterious and that she does not lie in consecrated ground. Had she been a suicide and was thus doomed to walk the earth searching for her beloved?

Then I see that it is not Lia but her brother. He has his pale overcoat draped over his shoulders. He wears his hair free down his back. It is only his face reflected in the glass of the window by the candlelight as he stares out into the storm. There is a flash of lightning and a rumble of thunder. The flame of the candle he holds in his hand flickers in the draft. He looks so much like his sister in the fickle light. The look in his eyes is almost fey.

"D'Eon?" I call out to him. He does not turn his face towards me but continues staring out into the rain.

"I could not sleep, my lady," his voice echoes strangely in the empty room. "Has the storm woken you too?" He smiles a smile that oddly reminds me of his sister's. I meet his eyes in the reflection on the glass.

"Yes," my voice catches in my throat. D'Eon nods. "What do you intend to do with him?" I understand his words. He referred to Pytor, who now sat under lock and key in the dungeon below. "For vengeance? Justice? Or something more?" he asks quietly. "Will you take on her mantle or step aside?" he muses. "I understand you have a son who will be Tsar someday."

"I do not know," I admit shamefaced. "I am but a woman and he is after all my husband."

"Elizaveta, God rest her soul, was a woman too. I ask you, has that man ever conducted himself as a husband should?" There is a hint of a bemused smile on his lips now. I am reminded of his sister. Valkyrie. The face reflected in the rain-lashed glass reminded me of the death-maidens of pagan Germanic lore, tasked with snatching brave warriors off the battlefield into Vahalla. _Beautiful and cruel at the same time._ "Elizaveta saw the steel within you. Ekaterina is not as weak as she thinks she is. We have faith in you as the next Empress."

There is a flash of lightning and a roar of thunder. He turns slowly towards me. I feel his eyes on me. They are deep unfathomable green pools.

"Hang him," he drops the words like stones down a well. "But her legacy…" I stutter. Empress Elizaveta had all but abolished the death penalty in favour of exile. "You can change the law just this once… to ensure that her reforms and her true legacy will live on," he turns back to the window. "There should be enough space for a gallows out there… or you could always use the axe and block. Be bold, be resolute, Ekaterina. May the rest of your days be fair…"

I am not standing with D'Eon, but with his sister's spirit. I realize that in that instant. The hairs on the nape of my neck prickle and a chill runs down my spine.

"D'Eon?" It is the boy Robin. He is holding a candlestick with three lit candles. The room is awash with light. The eerie spell is broken. With him are the rest of his compatriots. D'Eon sways unsteadily on his feet. The candle in his hand extinguishes as the candlestick falls from his grip. The brunette knight runs forward in time to catch him.

"I beg your pardon, my lady… he is not well…" he offers a weak apology as he steers his fellow knight in the direction of the door. The older knight is holding D'Eon's partially unsheathed sword in his hands. He silently studies the blade before he returns it into its sheath. He bows to me before leaving with the page.

* * *

The carpenters have outdone themselves. The wooden structure stands in the middle of the lawn before the palace. It is cruel yet strangely well-crafted for its purpose. I am hanging my husband today. From this day forth, I am a widow as well as Empress of Russia. The day is bright and full of birdsong. Unfortunately, the prisoner has no inclination to enjoy the fair weather. He begs for mercy, screams curses and gibbers in fear. The priest fumbles through the last rites amidst Pytor's curses. He raises a hand to me and the guards in benediction before scurrying aside. I do not wish to know what the Church thinks of a woman hanging her husband.

_The noose awaits, Pytor. _I steel myself and give my guards the orders from where I sit. A hood is pulled over his face and the rope put in place. The trapdoor springs open and he falls. The fall does not break his neck. He slowly chokes to death, his legs kicking in some macabre dance. He soils himself.

Beside me the Frenchmen watch the execution. The old knight's face and that of the brunette knight are solemn. They are men used to witnessing death. Young Robin blanches, his hand going for a moment to his mouth. D'Eon tries hard to maintain a stoic front, but I catch his eyes darting away. Finally, the condemned man's legs stop their twitching. He is dead. The guards cut him down and dump him onto a pallet to be borne indoors where his coffin waited. There will be a simple funeral before he is placed in the ground.

We turn to return indoors. D'Eon falls behind us a little. He walks behind me, his head bowed.

"We knew you had steel in you, Empress Ekaterina. May you and your nation prosper with God's blessing." It is Lia's voice saying those words in a ghostly whisper behind me. I look back over my shoulder. D'Eon blinks as if surprised. He catches himself and continues walking past me and towards the palace. Lia is gone.

**Author's Notes:**

Wilis – Slavic folklore figure. The souls of girls who committed suicide and are doomed to dance for all eternity until they find their beloved. A famous example will be the ballet _Giselle._

Valkyrie – Germanic myth: the handmaidens of the Norse god Odin. Tasked with taking the souls of worthy warriors who fell in battle into Vahalla or Norse Heaven. Often depicted as fierce female warriors.

Outtake:

D'Eon: I will have you know that I do not advocate the death penalty.

Lia: Pah, I think he got off easy… I should have dug out the block and axe for Ekaterina to use. Ekaterina?

Ekaterina: Well, I did get to hang him… too bad we had to skip the drawing and quartering part since we couldn't find an executioner who knows how to do that on such short notice. And having his guts ripped out while he's still kicking will be messy…

In a corner, Durand and Maximilien are listening.

Durand: Women are scary…

Max: Don't you dare tell them I was involved too. (sweat)


	18. Queen Mary

Disclaimer: The characters of Le Chevalier D'Eon do not belong to me. May contain spoilers for the anime.

Queen Mary and her sister make sense of their unusual situation. Old man D'Eon gets a cameo in this one. It is inspired by the very last scene in the anime where he is standing by the sea.

**Queen Mary: Homecoming **

_If the sky opened up for me,  
And the mountains disappeared,  
If the seas ran dry, turned to dust  
And the sun refused to rise  
I would still find my way,  
By the light I see in your eyes  
The world I know fades away  
But you stay_

Our husband is dead. His mind had gone long before then. His memories were consumed by the wasting sickness that rotted his mind. Things have changed. Once we were king and queen of all England. Now, George's consigned to the crypt under Westminster and we have returned to our little house by the sea. The children and grandchildren have their own lives to live. We are from an earlier age that has long passed. The revolutionary fires in France have died. We hear that an upstart general had seized power in France and there may be war. We have heard enough.

In our old age, all we desire is peace and quiet with each other's company. Mary and her sister, Charlotte, will be together forever and beyond this life into eternity. Our souls have become one as if this was always meant to be. Even as children, we were inseparable. Born on the same day within the hour and as like as two peas in a pod, we were twins. Maybe fate had meant for the eventual joining of our souls from the moment we were conceived.

When Mary was sent to England to be wed to George, Charlotte followed. When Mary fell in love with her husband-to-be, so did her sister. George was a loving husband to us both, before the illness took his senses. By the grace of God and the power of the Poems was Mary's soul returned from the afterlife to join her sister's in Charlotte's body. Now we are one, Mary, former queen of England. Now there is no living soul who knew that we were once two, except him.

* * *

We enter our home and are surprised to see that he is not there waiting for us in the parlour by the fire. Rheumatism makes movement hard for him and we will often find him sitting by the fire in his chair like a worn-out cat. "D'Eon?" we call out. The servants have been given the rest of the day off. Only a few remain in the house. Concerned, we hobble to his room. It is empty. The clothes trunk has been opened and garments lay strewn carelessly on the bed.

D'Eon has been acting oddly recently. Often, we will catch him sighing before the mirror or staring out the window. Now that my grandchildren have grown up, there are no more new students for him to tutor in French. Age has also made his eyes weak. The court has appointed a new set of royal tutors for the next generation of princes and princesses. Thus D'Eon was sent to join us as a companion. He is like our departed friend Lia but not like her. He is her younger brother and has a softer heart than her. _A good man._

His experiences back then have affected him profoundly. He cannot bear to speak of his sister or his past. He wears the clothes of a woman and lives as one under his sister's name. _Poor soul._ We would often converse with him to take his mind off his sorrows. Silly things like the latest fashion in London or the opera, or even the dreary weather.

We had decided that day when he turned up on our doorstep that we will care for him as Lia would have us do. We promised Lia that. D'Eon was more dead than alive when he made his way to our gate dressed as his sister. All the energy and life had been drained from him. Teaching the little ones gave him something to hold on to apart from his pain.

Now we fear our little sojourn in London for George's funeral have cost us that promise. D'Eon had come down with a cold and was excused from the long trip. Now he is nowhere to be found in the house.

"Maddy?" we call out to a young maidservant who is hanging clothes behind the house. She looks up from her work and drops a curtsy. "Have you seen Miss Lia?" we ask.

"Yes, ma'am. I saw her pass by earlier. She's heading for the cliff-path to the beach. Hope she gets back before the tide comes in…" she replies innocently before returning to her work. We make haste to catch up with him. _Whatever will Lia say if we let her brother get stranded by the tide or worse? _The sea can be unpredictable and cruel here. The unwary can easily be trapped by the incoming tide.

_If the years take away  
Every memory that I have  
I would still know the way  
That would lead me back to your side  
The north star may die  
But the light that I see in your eyes  
Will burn there always_

We hurry along the path as fast as we could. The cliff path is rough and the wind is starting up. We pull our heavy travelling cloak around ourselves, thankful for our sturdy travelling boots. We had not changed out of our travelling clothes yet. We see him on the water's edge, a lonely figure clothed in black, looking out into the misty distance over the grey sea, towards France's shores. On a clear day one could see the Calais in the distance if your eyes are good enough. Today, there is a heavy fog blanketing the horizon.

"D'Eon?"

He turns slowly towards us. The waves wash over his bare feet. His boots lay discarded in the sand. He holds a faded handkerchief in one hand and a sword in the other. We recognized it as the sword we had given him on the day he turned up at our gate after fleeing France. He is smiling. The wind has whipped his cheeks red but he is smiling. The wind tears at his grey shawl and bonnet.

"Mary?"

"Oh get out of there. You'll catch your death of the cold," we chide gently. He nods and steps away from the water. After taking a few slow steps, he looks over his shoulder at the footsteps he has left in his wake. The waves are slowly but surely washing them out.

"Sorry if I worried you," he apologizes. "I was just thinking of the past." He clumsily forces his shivering feet into his boots.

"We see," we take his elbow and steer him in the direction of the house. The dreamy smile remains on his face. "You may think I am a nostalgic fool but when I saw the sea this morning, I recalled the time Papa took Lia and me to the beach at Marseilles." This is the first time he has spoken of his childhood with Lia. "I had come down to the sand…"

"Of course, it was warmer then. We waded in the sea. Lia found a conch shell… We could hear the sea when we put it to our ears. Lia claimed she heard a mermaid singing when she did," he speaks wistfully. His cloudy old eyes seem to be focused on some faraway past. "Careful, the stones are loose here," we warn him as we pass a dangerous bend in the path. It seems to take a lifetime to reach home. The wind and the persistent ache in our bones slow us considerably.

* * *

On reaching home, we have Maddy get hot water bottles, blankets and hot tea for us. I have not seen D'Eon smile like that before. The weariness of age almost seems to vanish from him. "Merci," he thanks me in French when I hand him a cup of tea. He sips at it gingerly. "Lavender," he smiles over the brim. "My sister loved lavender tea… with teacakes…"

Maddy has a basin of warm water for D'Eon's freezing feet. He allows them to soak with a contented sigh. His boots are put near the fire to dry. Maddy leaves us after she has laid out our tea. Contented, we sip at our tea, savouring the flowery taste. It is a good pot of tea.

"Have you considered returning to France, D'Eon?" we ask cautiously. He shakes his head with a wistful smile. "There is nothing left for me there. My life is here," he waves his arm wearily at the fireplace. We know the truth. His ill-health will not allow him to make the arduous journey across the Channel. His lungs are poorly and he is prone to chills. "Did anything happen in France?"

"They say this Napoleon, he will make himself Emperor of France and declare war on her neighbours…" we nibble on a ginger snap. "Maybe he would," D'Eon shrugs but there is a glimmer of interest in his eye. "But such things are only mirages… In the end, it is the people who choose the path…" he sighs. It is time to steer the conversation to more mundane topics.

"Perhaps we should go to the market tomorrow…" I suggest. "We could make some preserves and jam for for charity… God knows there are more than enough widows and orphans in this parish who need help…" The recent epidemic had been merciless and the bitter weather did little to help. With the spectre of war looming…

D'Eon nods readily. "We could get Maddy and the girls to help. Some quilts will be good with the winter coming," he suggests thoughtfully. "Warm blankets for the children and books..."

Just as Mary found her way back to her sister, D'Eon is finding his way back to us, slowly but surely.

**Author's Notes:**

Queen Mary is a very close friend of Lia's and later D'Eon's. She has to be to offer him shelter for all those years. Hopefully in the end, D'Eon will be able to let go of his painful past. I have them acting like a surrogate mother or big sister to D'Eon. The lyrics are taken from the song _Love before Time_, the theme song from the film _Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon_.

Any one I left out? Anyone you think deserves a chapter?

Outtakes:

Heaven, the souls of all the characters of the series are all gathered, Lia looks up as someone comes along.

Lia: Hello Mary Charlotte...

Mary and Charlotte: Hello... (they are a pair of cojoined twins in their soul form)

Lia and D'Eon (thinking): Thank goodness we did end up that way. It'd be very awkward going to the bathroom...


	19. Broglie

Disclaimer: The characters of Le Chevalier D'Eon do not belong to me. May contain spoilers for the anime.

Actually, this chapter is for that ever-present, yet often ignored shadow of King Louis XV. By right, he should be a duke of some sort. Yet he seems to be more of a confidant and chamberlain to the king. He is more a confidant to Louis XV than D'Eon was, although Anna once mentioned that D'Eon is the king's confidant (?). Of course, Broglie was one of the few who knew the truth about Louis XV's true identity.

**Broglie: To Do and Die**

You should have died back then, Maximilien… I stab him through. The man who would have sat on the French throne… Ah, it was so long ago when the Sun King called me secretly into his presence. That was the accursed day it all started…

* * *

"Sire?" I was young then. King Louis XIV, imposing and solemn-faced, sat tapping his bejewelled fingers on the covers of a book I was to know later as the Book of the Royal Psalms. He had good reason to be sullen, I mistakenly thought. His queen had perished of childbirth fever soon after delivering a healthy prince. Not that he entertained any particular fondness for her. The now motherless infant gurgled and cooed in his cradle. I thought it odd that the nursemaids have been dismissed from their duties and that this secret meeting was taking place in the royal nursery.

"Broglie, our trusted servant. The Bourbons have ruled France for generations…" I bowed as the Sun King rattled off the great and glorious achievements of his esteemed ancestors. As he neared the end of his speech, a sudden rage fell upon him. "Yet, according to the Royal Psalms, all will be undone by _that thing_!" I heard the scrape of his sword leaving its scabbard. I glanced and gasped to see he had stabbed it into the royal cradle.

"Sire!" I leapt up in alarm. The king was shaking. The man who was as fearless as a lion in the heat of battle was shaking like a scared child. Feathers floated from the slashed pillows. Yet the young prince gurgled and clapped his chubby hands, unaware of how close he came to death at his father's hands. "Lord in Heaven, Broglie! We can't!" He yanked out his sword from the cradle in disgust and flung it across the room. The golden-haired baby boy sucked his thumb and stared out at the world in bewilderment through his blue eyes.

"Broglie, take up that thing!" he waved me towards the cradle. I carried the young prince in my arms. "Send it away! I do not wish to lay eyes on that wretched creature ever!" The depth of his hatred towards his own flesh and blood shocked even me, used as I was to his darker moods. But the people would question… Celebrations had been thrown throughout the kingdom on the arrival of the long awaited heir to the throne. And this was no sickly infant as the previous princes were, much to the Duke Phillippe's disgust.

There was a gentle rap on the door. "Sire, I have brought the child…" a timid nursemaid poked her head into the room when His Majesty bid him enter. The king took the mewling bundle from her arms. I saw it was another infant, this one with a shock of pale brown hair. "Is this the best you can do?" he demanded. "Forgive me, Your Majesty!" the terrified girl immediately fell to her knees. The king placed the new infant into the cradle.

"Come, rise," he pulled the girl roughly to her feet. "Have you spoken to anyone of this?"

"No, sire…" the poor girl never saw it coming. The Sun King stabbed her in the heart with his dagger. It was over in flash. "Broglie, behold your prince…" His Majesty gently rocked the cradle. "Keep this secret safe, until your grave," he commanded. Thus the switch was made. The Sun King feared his own son would bring about the end of Bourbon France. Yet, he could not bring himself to order the death of his own son. By night, I took the accursed child and left him in a passing cart in Paris. I often wondered afterwards which peasant or gypsy had been bestowed with a foundling of royal blood. Or perhaps the lad simply starved or perished from the cold.

* * *

King Louis XIV had no other children afterwards. The bastard daughter he had by a certain noblewoman near the end of his life notwithstanding. Yet he never asked after his son. There were times when I feared for my life, lest I was to be silenced like that nursemaid, until the Sun King took to his deathbed. On his deathbed, I promised him to guard the secret and serve the new king, Louis XV, a mere boy of five then, to the best of my abilities. The Duke of Orleans was regent and there were times when he tended to overreach his boundaries. Lord, we hated that pompous man.

Then Robespierre showed up. Maximilien Robespierre, loyal French knight, a member of the Secret du' Roi. We never had any trouble with him, till the day I happened to call on his family by chance.

"A right gift from God he was. My lady and I were not blessed with children of our own," his adoptive father said. "Our maidservant found him in the cart of supplies we had purchased. We had to take him in as our own… such a charming child he is!" I tried to verify the story and reached the damned conclusion that Maximilien Robespierre was indeed the infant I had abandoned on the late king's orders so many years ago.

Afterwards, we watched him carefully. King Louis XV had to be warned. This was the man who the Psalms predicted would destroy France, as loyal a knight he was. King Louis XV feared him. He feared the exposure of the secret. He ordered me to make plans to have Maximilien killed. Alas, he caught on before we could put any into action. He stole the Psalms themselves. Then that bastard half-sister of his and lover, Lia de Beaumont saw fit to abandon her duties to France and align herself with him. She was a smart one, too smart. She had to be silenced before the secret was revealed.

Perhaps I should have killed her then. King Louis XV was not really suited for such bloody deeds, but after he poisoned his wife and killed that lady-in-waiting. I think I was mistaken. Lia was tough and did not die easily. Even after her death, she continued to plague us, mocking us as she drives her brother's body on its quest to find the truth behind her murder.

_Why did the Secret du'Roi turn on their master? _Theirs not to question why, theirs to do and die. You carry out your orders, even if you die doing so. You simply do not question the king! Even if I had to die for the king's sake, I do so with no regrets.

You close your eyes to all that deceit, lies, all that blood and continue carrying out your duty.

Alas, things were not as they were in my youth. Maximilien turned his back on France. Lia was clearly in cahoots with him at the time of her death and that Durand? I shudder to even think what that man has been up to behind Louis' back. King Louis XV trusted that man though I believed the only loyalty Durand ever owed was to his traitorous companions. D'Eon de Beaumont was naïve and could have been a prime candidate to serve the king, if only he had not been possessed by his sister's vengeful spirit. He is more Lia than himself now. Old Teillagory was clearly casting his lot in with that rebellious duke of Orleans. Robin the page was only loyal to the Queen and now has switched his loyalties to Robespierre's crew.

Thus all things fell apart.

* * *

It was a while before I regained my sight. The power of the psalms had eased its hold on me. Perhaps Maximilien is dead now. Perhaps… but we will never know for sure… Louis XV's flesh still festered. The Psalms were lost. I last saw them with that page, Robin.

"Sire, should we do something about de Beaumont and Robin?" I ask. We can still muster up the remnants of Parisian secret police to hunt them down.

"No, Broglie. Announce that Robin the page and de Beaumont are dead. Leave them in peace… I promised my dearest Marie that…" the last words came out as a sob. The sun was setting on Louis XV, the Beloved. I know I will be called upon soon to guide and serve a new master, the soon-to-be orphaned Dauphin, mere boy of six.

"Very well, sire," I bow and take my leave. I had been there before, a generation ago. Perhaps someday when the dauphin is older, would he start to question his mother's death? Ah well, I will deal with that when it comes. Perhaps not… I am an old man now. Perhaps Auguste will be served by younger and more able servants…

**Author's Notes:**

There you have it, a little piece on the king's shadow.

Outtake:

_5-year-old Louis XV:_ Broglie!

_Broglie:_ Yes, sire.

_Louis XV:_ I need to go potty...

_10-year-old Louis XV:_ Broglie! I want you to do my homework!

_Broglie_: Very well, sire...

_Little Auguste, soon to be king:_ Broglie, I want my teddy bear...

_Broglie: (to himself)_ Here we go again...


	20. Pompadour

Disclaimer: The characters of Le Chevalier D'Eon do not belong to me. May contain spoilers for the anime.

I know I said I was done with this, but after receiving a request from a reader, my Chevalier muse has flitted back and set up house in my mind.

I may be a bit rusty, since it has been a while since I saw the anime. Hope I have the confrontation scene right. Otherwise, just take it as creative liberties.

**Pompadour: Mirror, Mirror**

_Mirror, mirror on the wall,  
Who is the fairest of them all?_

A wrinkle? Surely it cannot be. No, it is but a trick of the light on the looking glass. The relief that comes with that realization washes over me like cool water. It will not take much for a man's affections to stray and the king has his pick of the fairest beauties of Versailles. It may be tomorrow or the day after that some fresh-faced young filly catches his eye. Being a royal mistress is a precarious existence. Hadn't the Sun King enjoyed the favours of at least fourteen different women during his lifetime, casting them aside like old clothes once he tires of them? Louis has the same keen eye for beauty as his father.

My hair looks a little limp, I must have it washed out and perfumed… Louis has mellowed much in the past months, his ardour cooled. He has withdrawn from my company and sought instead that of his queen. Marie has always been so plain in her looks and so quiet. She always held herself apart from the gay frivolities of the court. A meek mouse, I had thought. I was mistaken.

She was, after all, the mother of the dauphin. Louis probably bestows his affection upon her as the woman who bore him an heir, no matter how dowdy she gets with the passing years. For me? A convent perhaps, or a meagre pension when our paths part? No, I will not allow him to treat me as court protocol will have him to. Things in France will change. I will play a part in it. I will not accept the cards fate and tradition dictates. I have tried to speak to him, urge reform but he shied away from my attempts.

Thus I turn my attention to the education of the ladies of the court and the dauphin. Alas, the females around me have little brains or heart for action. Like the queen, they are content to sit back and let things stand as they are. Auguste is but a naïve child and he dislikes me. The boy has the nerve to demand that I be replaced as his tutor by that red-haired slip of a lady-in-waiting. Let him play with his toys. Let those silly women cluck over their new ribbons.

I brush my hair up and pin it in a high chignon. It is a fashion which reveals the slender ivory column of my neck to its best effect. The belladonna beckons. I carefully drop a drop each into my eyes and tolerate the attendant blurring of vision. He always adored my sparkling eyes. I must stick to my beauty regime, no matter how uncomfortable.

I have used my wiles to win over my own loyal servants. But are they truly loyal? Praslin is of little use and has proved it. The Comte, Saint-Germain, wields the power of the Psalms, surely with him on my side… Then there's Robespierre… No, I cannot trust him. Maximilien wears his face like an inscrutable mask. He was of the Secret du Roi once. Is he a spy sent by His Majesty? Does Louis have an inkling of our plans?

No, it cannot be. We know the risks. A quick visit by the Secret du Roi, a dark ride to the Bastille… The knights and that page are probably dead by now. There is no way…

_Her Majesty._ Somehow, I sense that she is up to something. Her eyes remind me of a hawk's when we passed each other earlier. They say she hailed from Warsaw, a distant land peopled by wild people. She has few attendants save that red-haired girl and that scrawny pageboy. Even without the force of numbers, she still manages to hold her own in the face of my sizeable entourage of brainless hens. She is too thick in the waist from childbearing and her face shows the weight of her years. Her complexion is too dark to be considered lovely. She knows she cannot hope to compete with my beauty and youth. Perhaps there is no need for her to. Perhaps she has a dagger waiting for me. Or a poisoned chalice.

I laugh softly at the notion of the oh-so-prim Queen Marie storming into my chambers with a dagger in one hand and poison in the other. The notion is too farfetched to be taken seriously. She has tolerated me all this while… We have an uneasy truce she is reluctant to break even though I'm sure she chafes every time His Majesty so much as looks at me.

I glance at my reflection in the mirror. The belladonna's effects had yet to wan. I can make out a blurry image in the mirror. Me.

His Majesty has not summoned me for a full two weeks… Perhaps he has some other lady waiting in the wings to take my place. His Majesty cannot and will not act. The Comte is right. We have to act for the good of France and her people. The dauphin. Marie's little boy is the key. I wonder if she knows…

Marie has to be removed. The Comte will take care of it, so he promised.

The reflection stares back at me accusingly. _You had a child once, a daughter as lovely as a rose. Where is she now? _

I shake off the memory of childish hands reaching up to me. The dauphin will never reach out to me like that. When our paths cross, he would dart behind the skirts of his mother's lady-in-waiting.

_Mama…_ Why should I think of her now? A blurry ghost of an image in the corner… Just like how she used to stand and watch me at my toilette.

Suddenly the mirror irks me. In a rage, I fling the brush at it. The glass shatters and I immediately regret it. _Seven years' bad luck._ And that mirror was a gift from His Majesty.

* * *

My mood totally soured, I adjourn to the small parlour and sit down in the chair. The maids have replaced the flowers in the vase on the table. _Are they lilies or roses?_ My sight is still suffering from the side-effects of the eye-drops. They should soon wear off. A swish of skirts draws my attention to the door.

_Queen Marie. _She stands like some Fury of classical myth in the doorway. With slow, measured steps, she approaches as I try to rise as protocol dictated. _Where was the Comte Saint-Germain? Had he betrayed me? _

"As a mother, there are some things I cannot forgive…" her eyes are stern, almost flinty. I gaze in horror upon the object she bears. I will have gladly taken the dagger or poison. Instead…

_Hello, Mama…_ Empty eye sockets stare accusingly at me.

Belle.

**Author's Notes: **

Belladonna juice was used in the past by women to dilate the pupils to give a sparkly-eyed look. The side-effects are blurred vision and sustained usage can cause blindness.

I have little sympathy for the LCD Marquise de Pompadour.

In the anime, there is always that tension between Marie and Pompadour. Historically, Marie and Pompadour enjoyed a somewhat cordial relationship. Queen Marie probably thought her husband in a long-term relationship with Pompadour was better than having him chasing after every young beauty in Versailles. The historical Louis XV was notorious for his womanizing.

Outtake:

Pompadour: Mirror, mirror on the wall, who is the fairest of them all?

Mirror: Definitely not you.

Pompadour goes into hysterics while Robin stifles his laughter in the corridor outside. He is holding a book titled "Ventriloquism made Easy".


	21. Duc d'Orleans

Disclaimer: The characters of Le Chevalier D'Eon do not belong to me. May contain spoilers for the anime.

To be frank, I have scant sympathy for the following characters (if I don't feel they are outright imbeciles or play too minor a part). Yes, I can be very opinionated, which is no good if I'm trying to get into a character's head to understand their thoughts and motivations. As a reader so rightly pointed out, I have missed out some of the characters who drive the events of the anime. So here they are.

Feel free to disagree with my portrayals.

**Duc d'Orleans: House of Cards**

_No, this is not the way things should end…_ I gaze in horror at the row upon row of soldiers standing before the manor. All Louis' men. It is over. Our little rebellion squashed before it even started. My men had fled or surrendered. Saint-Germain, Maximilien and their cronies have vanished. With them, the Psalms. Teillagory lies dead in the next room. I sink to my knees. The Bastille beckons or perhaps exile. My fate now lies in his hands.

He was once a timid, weepy little brat. I would have you know that. Louis, my young nephew… When he was too young to rule France himself, they made me Regent. And when he grew into adulthood, he cast me aside like a broken sword. If I were still in charge, France would not have lost her colonies to England. I live in Paris, with the people. They definitely adore me more than Louis who is always shut up within the distant walls of Versailles.

Louis is nothing like my departed brother. While Louis XIV was tall and cut an impressive figure, his son is a bit too round. Did I just say round? No, I might as well as say it. Roly-poly and short with a gut which look like he stuffed a cushion down his shirt. Even his wife, that Polish woman, is taller than him without her heels and wig. Talking about wigs, you should know he is balding despite being more than fifteen years my junior. I assure you my black hair is no wig. And no, that black is all natural, no dye there. Truth be told, he was so different from his parents that we have suspicions whether someone had slipped in a changeling when no one was looking.

Louis was an afterthought. My sister-in-law often miscarried or bore infants who scarcely drew breath before they perished. Then God answered their prayers for an heir in the form of that disgustingly healthy boy-child Louis. When he lived past his first month of life, I knew I have been knocked a rung down the ladder of ascension, not that I had any hopes to start with. As strong as a lion, Louis XIV seemed like he would live forever. When my brother died unexpectedly five years later, the dauphin Louis ascended the throne.

It was a far from dignified ceremony. At the tender age of five, what can one expect? He cried during the coronation and drove poor Broglie to near-distraction. He had little interest in his lessons and little aptitude for learning how to rule… Believe me, I tried to teach him. So guess who has to make the big decisions for him. When I was the Regent, everyone loved the way I ran things from Paris.

_"Long live the Duke. God bless Orleans!"_

How often had the streets rung with that cry as I ride through them before an adoring populace? How often did Louis XV deign to visit our city? Hardly.

Yet he saw fit to have me stripped of my titles, my rights as a duke, a brother to one king and regent to another. Sure, he has reached his maturity and court protocol demanded I hand the reins of power to him, as inexperienced and inept as he is. His late Majesty must be tossing in his crypt if only he knew of his son losing our New World colonies. To that neighbour upstart England too! He's setting the kingdom on the path to ruin!

The people wanted change, which can only be brought about by the Psalms. I have sought the counsel of Saint-Germain, a poet, to weaken Louis' power. All for the sake of the French people.

They will remember me long after I'm gone though. That is some consolation. They will sit, chat about the old days and remember how good it was when I was Regent.

The guards do not bind my hands or lay hands on my royal person, but Broglie has probably instructed them to kill me should I try to flee. Dying doesn't appeal to me. If that old man were still alive, could he have defeated them in combat or at least buy me time to escape?

Two sombre soldiers carry his corpse through the room on a pallet. The old man has his arms crossed over his chest. Someone had placed the old-fashioned hat of his on his chest, hiding his wound. _After life's fitful fever he sleeps soundly… _He was a strange man, wearing garments which are unfashionable since last year and using that old sword the last king gave him in favour of a pistol. Why, he was reluctant to take that new sword I offered him to replace that broken one. One of the guards brushes something from his eye._ A tear?_ Why should he cry for an old man, a lowly knight, even if he was the best swordsman in France?

Ah yes, Master Teillagory taught many students. It would stand that some of them are here in this room with us.

Teillagory saw me as the better man and swore his loyalty to me. He chose to send the Psalms into my hands. He died shielding me from that scrawny urchin's pistol. If I deserved his loyalty, why had Saint-Germain and his cronies abandoned me just when I need the Psalms most?

_He did not die shielding you… He died sparing that child from spilling your blood. _

The thought pops unbidden into my head.

_Nonsense!_ The people love me. It will only stand to reason that he would die protecting me. Why should he bother whether that child gets blood on his hands? If that brat did shoot me, I'm sure we'll hang him…

_It could easily be you lying there… _That voice taunts.

Looking out the window, I see movement and the light of torches. A mob of citizens have gathered before my manor, the tables are to be turned on Louis' soldiers.

I start in disbelief as the cheers reach my ears._ Can you hear what the good people of Paris are shouting?_ Oh no… This cannot be!

They are not cheering for me.

"_Vive le roi_! Long live the King! May God's grace be upon him!"

**Author's Notes: **

Conceited, pompous ass. I hate this character from the anime.

Historically, Louis XV and his uncle had a cordial relationship. The Duke Philippe of Orleans at that time would not have been a brother of Louis XIV as they compressed the time frame of events to the space of one generation. Auguste would have been the grandson of Louis XV and Louis XV would have been the grandson of his predecessor.

Outtake:

_Our Duke of Orleans rides in a procession through Paris when a gust of wind blows his hat off, with his wig attached to it. Enough said. _


	22. Saint Germain

Disclaimer: The characters of Le Chevalier D'Eon do not belong to me. May contain spoilers for the anime.

Betrayal can be very nasty business.

**Saint-Germain: A Curse on Your House**

_A plague o'both thy houses_

So it has come to this, Marie. I face my opponent. You have the talent and we could really use that for the Order. Too bad you chose _him_ as you did. We stand in the circle of ivory marble columns, the birthplace of the Psalms. Only one will survive this battle of wills. She's stronger than we expected. As things stand, we are evenly matched. I force my will into my words, drawing on the power of the poems and turning them against that woman who now stands in my way…

We could have been allies.

* * *

It was difficult to corner her away from her attendants and guards. Lia de Beaumont was often in her company, before she was recruited for the Secret du Roi. There was also the dauphin and that red-haired waiting woman. There was also that annoying page with his knack of showing up unexpected. Unwilling to approach her openly in the palace, I bribed a lowly maidservant to leave a letter in her room. I half-expected her to ignore the missive, but she had come to this forgotten corner of Versailles. Alone, she stood in the circle, as calm and composed as a still pool of water. Yet we're often warned that still waters run deep.

I kneeled before her and sought her support for our fraction. "There must be action…" I purred in that hypnotic tone which I have used to much effect. However, with Her Majesty, there is little sign of her yielding to my suggestion.

"Action?" her eyes flashed with a glint of calm intelligence. "Comte, there will be change, but it will come slowly. It is too soon," she fans herself with her fan as if bothered by the heat.

"But with your help, the new order…" I tried again to no avail.

"I am only a meek woman, Comte, but I care for both the stability of the kingdom and my family."

"The nobles' excesses outrage the common people. Things cannot be as they are. His Majesty has refused to listen to calls for reform or lacks the drive to see them through… Unlike the Duke…"

"Let me remind you that we speak of my husband, King of France. Like me, he has no wish for instability in France, which is what will result from your proposed action. This conversation is at an end." With a proud swish of her skirts she was gone, leaving me kneeling alone and foolish in the sacred circle.

* * *

I thought she would have been content to sit back and leave the politicking to the various court fractions. I was wrong. Recently, she had confronted Pompadour over spreading her radical views in Versailles. I have no doubt those four Frenchmen were in Russia and England at her behest to recover the Royal Psalms. She will not be allowed to interfere further…

That seems a lifetime ago that we met here yet now we are back, this time as foes. This time I will not be the one kneeling.

Marie stands alone in Versailles. Lia's brother and his motley crew are dead or imprisoned. They cannot win. Yet she is so strong. Even amidst the terrifying power of the poems, she stands calm and firm. A still pool of deep water. I fear I am losing against her. I cannot hold on for much longer, but I must until Maximilien…

Marie, I can see the strain the Psalms are taking on you. After all, you may have borne an heir for the royal family, but you are still not of their royal lineage. Using them tires you as much, if not more than my poems sap my strength. Will you collapse soon, Marie? You cannot hope to win…

I focus my will for one last push… This is the end, Marie, the coup de grace. _Thus lived…_

Maximilien! What are you doing? His words do not resound with mine but echo hers. Have you betrayed me, you wretch?

A curse on you! _What is this?_ Why do the Psalms react so strongly to that traitor's words?

My flesh is burning, The Psalms – they are devouring me from within…

* * *

It is dark here. The dim light and coolness soothes my pain a little. The grotto reeks of damp and decay. Or perhaps the stench of rot is coming from my devastated body. I must be near death. I have fled from the battle I lost. Maximilien has cast his lot in with the Queen. He has the power to break the spell we have cast on the dauphin… If we do not act, our plans will come to nought. Betrayed. Maximilien, you ingrate! Who was it who first opened your eyes to the Psalms? Or have you been a willing slave to the Queen all this while? Why? Don't you blame them for Lia's demise?

Lia in her coffin… What secret did she know? Was the whole scene of her death just some elaborate act? Surely she died… Who killed her? It served no purpose except to get a bereaved Maximilien to join us… Or does he hold us responsible? I cannot think clearly. My mind is fogging up, much like the night Maximilien took Lia's coffin away.

I taste rancid blood in my mouth and know it is mine. I will die here like some wounded animal…

No, I am the Comte de Saint-Germain, and I refuse to die so easily.

Hark, someone's coming. I fight to sit up and see who.

_Lorenza!_ She stands in the entranceway of the grotto with the snivelling Italian companion of hers. My prayers are answered. _Will her power be sufficient to save me?_ I beseech her aid. Instead…

A curse on you, too, Lorenza, you harlot! So like that turncoat Robespierre you have turned on those who have given you the power of a Poet. Or was your loyalty to Maximilien all this while?

The sheer weight of the stones crushes my bones. The human body cannot withstand such damage… I struggle to shove the rocks off my battered frame. More blood, more pain. Is this death? No, I am _not _dying! I refuse to. My breath cannot come. Soon…

I curse you, all of you… Even if I must return from beyond, I'll have my revenge…

**Author's Notes:**

More a drabble than anything. Doubt gargoyles are capable of thought, more instinct or suggestion. Wonder what was driving the Gargolye-fied Saint-Germain though, since he was not under anyone's control per se.

The tag is from Romeo and Juliet, Act III Scene 1, Mercutio's dying words.

The historical Comte of Saint-Germain was quite a mysterious and colourful character. Spy, scientist, alchemist, occultist, magician - these are just some of the identities he was credited to be. Origins are equally mysterious and colourful, with claims of royal East European blood. And some claimed that he is an immortal.

Outtake:

_Saint-Germain: (bursts into Poets' recreation room)_ Am I that unpopular? Do you really hate me that much?

_Maximilien, Cagliostro, Lorenza and Caron look up from whatever they are doing and shake their heads. _

_Saint-Germain leaves satisfied and closes the door behind him. On the back of the door is a dartboard with his face on it. The four get back to their game of darts using Saint-Germain's face as a target. _

I'm thinking of making an outtake for all the chapters, what do you think?


	23. Whitehead

Disclaimer: The characters of Le Chevalier D'Eon do not belong to me. May contain spoilers for the anime.

Thanks for the review, Emme. The outtakes are meant for a bit of humour. I've added them to all the chapters where they were missing. I'd probably write a separate fic for our star-crossed lovebirds.

This is inspired by that creepy Whitehead harassing Lorenza in Medmenham Abbey.

**Whitehead: The Acolyte **

_Somewhere out there  
__In the pale moonlight_

She was, well, fascinating. Hair like golden sunshine on a window sill. Eyes as blue as a summer sky. And those rosebud lips, so luscious and promising. Her plump breasts peek coquettishly over the top of her bodice as she sashays into the abbey. It is a welcome change from the usual shapeless robe and cloak worn by all the poets, even the sisters of Medmenham Abbey. A lovely woman she is and one who would put Venus herself to shame. For the first time in my life I feel something akin to love or infatuation.

I force myself to take a deep breath. Sir Francis is walking away with the Frenchman Robespierre. She is distracted by the medieval stonework littered throughout the abbey. Here is my chance. How I wish I have the ability of speech to make my intentions known! My heart thumps like a startled hare. I approach her, but she draws away in a mix of fear and disgust. Her companion makes some weak sound of protest as she turns to him for protection.

_Don't be afraid… I mean no harm… _

"Whitehead!" Sir Francis' voice thunders.

Alas, I must leave. My master calls me. With great regret I leave the pair and hasten to Sir Francis.

* * *

Perhaps I was being foolish there. She did not know me, after all. I was too direct. Perhaps I could be gentler in my approach. Sir Francis would probably laugh. _Fait ce que voudras -_ _Do what thoust will_. That is the motto of the Hellfire Club and I will probably be justified simply using my abilities as a poet to persuade her to submit to my attention. She may be a poet, but her powers are inferior to mine. Rumours have it that my esteemed master often used his powers to persuade the lesser 'sisters' of the Abbey. I will not comment if there is any truth to it but the notion of using force on her repels me.

There is precious little time to court her the traditional way. There is no telling when her little party will leave. For now, my master is content to have Robespierre close at hand.

"_A dangerous man, Whitehead. I do not trust him. Not fully…."_ He had confided to me once regarding the Frenchman when we were in private.

Robespierre had habit of surrounding himself with pretty women. And poetesses to boot. The last time he was in town, he was in the company of a fellow French poet, de Beaumont, whose powers matched his. Lia was too stern in her looks for my liking, unlike Lorenza. Ah, yes. I have learnt her name. Lorenza. She's only a servant to Robespierre, in the same way I am a servant to Sir Francis. I muse about how I will confess to her my affection. But how? She is always in the company of that other servant, or Robespierre himself.

I am in luck. I espy her from the balcony. There is a small patch of garden hidden in a corner of the abbey grounds. Somehow, she has found her way there, alone. Her skirts ghosting over the dewy grass, she walks over to the weathered angel statue. The moonlight kisses her hair, painting it silver. Her skin is pure ivory as she reaches out to caress the cherub's crumbling cheek with her slender fingers. She now stands in the pale moonlight, like some pagan moon goddess. No, she is no virginal Diana or Artemis. She is the epitome of love and womanly beauty. Queen Mab of fairies, Venus, Aphrodite…

Had she become separated from her companions? I hasten down the narrow stairs opening onto the garden. _Here was my chance to… _

The night-blooming lilies scented the night air with their heavy perfume. She hears my footsteps on the gravel. Or perhaps she senses my presence. She turns suddenly to face me. In the moonlight, the dark circles under her eyes are pronounced. Strange that I did not notice them earlier. But it was expected. The poems demanded sacrifice from those who wield them. My master, bless him, is almost skeletal in his looks. He claims to be a good deal younger than he looks. The sisters do not linger too long within our ranks and there are precious few of them. The de Beaumont woman had perished, was it because of wielding the poems? I do not know.

The thought of watching this exquisite creature before me wither away sickens me. Why did she have to be a poetess?

Her eyes widen in fear and she stifles a scream, looking like a startled deer.

_Wait, I mean you no harm. Your beauty, your grace…_

I gesture to reassure her but she only darts towards the staircase.

_Wait! Don't go!_

"Brother Whitehead." Robespierre. With measured and unhurried steps he descends the steps. The scent of the lilies is now overpowering, like the stench of something gone rotten. The moonlight, so lovely before, paints our surroundings sickly shades of grey.

Lorenza throws her arms around his neck, seeking his protection from my attentions. He does not react to her touch. No reassuring words, smiles or caresses in return. She means as much to him as a well-trained dog. I clench my fists impotently. As much I would like to…

"Sir Francis is looking for you. Did you not hear him?" he states nonchalantly.

"Whitehead! Where on earth are you?" Sir Francis' voice thunders dully from the depths of the abbey. There is nothing else I can do but hasten to my master's side.

**Author's Notes:**

This is just my short take on that mute monk, Brother Whitehead. In a way, the situation is almost comical the way he is attracted to Lorenza but she is freaked out by his clumsy attentions.

Outtake:

Early morning, Whitehead knocks on Lorenza's door. He has a bouquet of flowers in his hand.

Lorenza opens the door and looks out with her morning, make-up free face with serious bed-head.

Whitehead drops flowers and runs away very fast.


	24. King George III

Disclaimer: The characters of Le Chevalier D'Eon do not belong to me. May contain spoilers for the anime.

And a small explanation of why he is always yawning in the anime, apart from being bored.

**King George III:** **Faust's Bargain**

_There're stranger things b'twixt Heaven and Earth _

_Than we are aware of. _

Two months. Was it that long ago that my beloved wife left this life? It seems like only yesterday. The ache, the disbelief, the emptiness… I pause before her portrait. It was the last one commissioned before the epidemic claimed her, one of the hundreds who have perished. We had retreated to our country manor but she was struck down all the same. A hasty interment in the manor's crypt, overseen by only an old priest, who would be struck down in his turn. I had been too ill to attend myself. Somehow, I was spared.

"Your Majesty…" Charlotte. I tear my gaze away from Mary's portrait and am confronted with her image in living flesh. They are twins, identical in almost every aspect. I see she has been weeping. I brush a tear off her cheek. It had been hard on her nursing her sister and later me.

Due to the hasty burial and confusion sown by the epidemic in London, the news of Mary's death had yet to be announced. Some of the palace servants greet Charlotte as 'Your Majesty', clearly mistaking her for her deceased twin. We had returned to London together, in the same carriage, after Mary died. We had grown close in our shared grief. Yet I cannot help but wonder if there is something more than brotherly affection I feel.

Charlotte had followed her sister when she came to London to be wed to me. The then Princess Charlotte was in turn wed to the late Lord Cunningham, a minor earl of advanced years who promptly died after the honeymoon. Charlotte's first marriage was like most noble marriages a case of political alliance for her family. Little provision had been made for the widowed bride by the earl's surviving family. My sweet Mary insisted her widowed sister join our household as a companion. Mary and I were fortunate in finding true love in our brief union. _Alas…_

"_There is a way…"_ Lord Sandwich had dropped dark hints over dinner. There is a man who has the power to bring my beloved back, but they need a willing vessel for Mary's soul.

* * *

"I'm ready, Your Majesty," Charlotte stands before me, clad in a simple white gown. It is freezing cold in the abbey and she must certainly feel it through the thinness of her dress. The cloaked and hooded figures flanking her step back to allow us some private words before the ceremony. I do not know who they are, possibly servants of Sir Francis Dashwood, who will conduct this forbidden rite to summon Mary's soul back to us.

"Charlotte…" I stroke her cheek instinctively. She places her hand over mine.

"Your Majesty… I…" the tenderness of her words and gesture touches me in a way I never dreamed possible since I lost Mary.

My heart skips a beat as it dawns on me. I love her. I love them both, Mary and Charlotte.

What if something goes wrong? What if we lose both Charlotte and Mary's soul? This is not right… Charlotte is not Mary. She has her own life to live. Is this fair to her? Even if the rite succeeds… Sir Francis and his poets. They promise power, restoration of the power of the monarchy yet we fear that we are putting ourselves into their power by accepting this dark bargain. But if we refuse, Mary's soul will remain in the afterlife and we will face the endless loneliness of our existence… Or are we simply preventing Mary from her well-deserved rest by dealing with powers we barely understand? The doubts come fast and furious.

"It is almost time…" one of the servants speak in the lightly-accented voice of a woman. _French? Does Sir Francis count Frenchwomen among his poets?_ Charlotte turns to leave.

She pauses. "Your Majesty… I do this willingly, not only out of love for Mary, my dear sister, but also of the love I feel for you. I love you…" With those words she leaves with the poets.

* * *

_She turns away from me as the terrible figures pull her into the darkness… It is hot, too hot… Demonic laughter fills the air. Hell. We are in Hell. _

"Mary! Charlotte!" I awake in cold sweat. Another nightmare.

"George, my love?" Mary-Charlotte is at my side in the royal bed. The rite has succeeded. Mary now dwells in the same body as her sister. I groan and wipe cold swear off my brow.

"Mary… Charlotte…"

"We are both here, my love…"

"Will you ever regret…" Mary could have been in heaven, for that is surely her rightful place.

"Heaven is nothing if I'm not with you, my dearest…" she kisses me on the cheek as I return to a fitful sleep.

Sir Francis' influence has grown with the power he holds over us. "_The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh._ What was given and easily be taken…" I cannot bear losing my love again. I do not know how many of my ministers are in Sir Francis' power. My old friend Sandwich certainly is. Possible war in the colonies with the French looms on the horizon.

"Spies, Your Majesty. French spies…" Lord Sandwich warned at the council meeting. I do not know who to trust. For now, I can only bend my will to that of Sir Francis and his coven. Some king of England I am. The chains of office grow heavier with each passing day and the coven spreads its malignant cancer throughout the land. The only peace I can snatch is in my beloved's arms.

* * *

Sir Francis is dead. The news is to my ears angelic music. Without him, the coven has apparently disbanded, the members gone to ground like a wounded fox. Indeed we owe that motley crew of Frenchmen a lot. There is one last thing I must do for the good of England and the monarchy…

"Abdication?" Sandwich's eyes bugged out when I conveyed my decision. "But, sire… the Queen…"

"We have spoken last night. My wife supports my decision."

"Will you be acting as Regent to your son?" He is clutching at the straws now. I smile and shake my head.

"No, I am weary of ruling. My uncle, the Duke of Wellington, will act as Regent to young George until he comes of age." My uncle William may be a bit of a prude, but he is a staunch Christian and supporter of the monarchy. He is also fond of his godson, my eldest son. Better yet, he is a sworn enemy of both Sir Dashwood and Lord Sandwich. "My wife and I would like to retire to our quiet estate by the sea in Dover, for we are sick of London life. Ah, Sandwich, as a friend I would advise you to tender your resignation before the Duke starts his housekeeping…"

It is with no small satisfaction that I leave the room, leaving a confused and flustered Lord Sandwich in my wake.

* * *

Last night I slept soundly, untroubled by nightmares. The birds were singing and the sun high in the sky when I finally awoke and dressed. We are leaving London for the peace of the countryside.

The luggage has been loaded. Little George understood as much as his five years of life would allow him to. To our pride, he has stepped up to his duties as the new king. He will live in the palace under Uncle William's tutelage and learn the ropes of ruling in the same manner I was educated. He will be able to visit us during summer when the travelling is easier. His younger brother and sister will remain at the palace until we have put our new home in order. Or perhaps the London life will suit them better.

She is waiting for me in the carriage, a smile on her face. I climb in beside her. She wears a simple travelling gown of peach, discarding the mantle of a queen. She looks so radiant with happiness.

"You could have been Queen of England," I kiss her hand. She has sacrificed so much for my sake.

"We do not regret our decision, George," she kisses me gently on the lips. "We'll be together, always…" she gives the order to the driver to go.

A new life awaits us.

**Author's Notes: **

A glimpse into another minor character in the anime. The King George-Queen Mary relationship. Abdication is a big deal in those days, wonder what drove King George to it.

Historically, George III did not abdicate. However, there was a regency. King George III was stricken by a form of mental illness in his later years. That forced the parliament to elect his adult son, future George IV, to act as regent to his incapacitated father. The historical queen of George III was Charlotte, not Mary.

Outtake:

George and Mary/Charlotte in bed when George starts talking in his sleep.

George: Mary, my sweet… What a soft bosom you have…

Mary/Charlotte is awake and they smile at their husband.

George: Charlotte, dearest… How pert your hips are…

More smiling from the Mary/Charlotte with a bit of giggling.

George: Marilyn Monroe, I'd like to see you again in the buff….

George gets slapped twice by an angry Mary/Charlotte.


	25. Bestuzhev

Disclaimer: The characters of Le Chevalier D'Eon do not belong to me. May contain spoilers for the anime.

This is another minor character insight, this time from St. Petersburg Russia.

**Bestuzhev: Coup d'état **

Emperor Pyotr the Great, God bless his soul, was delirious when he settled on his heir. A woman to rule Russia! We only lasted so long because there were level heads in the army and boyars to guide her. We all know women are not suited to rule. But the little tsarita is coming into her own. No more will she listen to our advice. I was a young man when she ascended the throne. Things have declined since.

Russia does not look like Russia anymore. Foreigners, with their alien ways, clutter the streets of the city of St Petersburg. Merchants from Germany, Prussia… even distant France and England. They set up their buildings, spoiling the landscape. The town no longer boasts the familiar Russian churches and modest cabins. Instead we have sprawling French-style mansions and Italian gardens. The other day I heard that they'll be putting up a Lutheran church in the Gothic style near St Peter's. Nowadays it is more likely to hear English, French or Spanish in the streets instead of the Russian tongue.

Elizaveta has surrounded herself with foreigners. Architects from France and Italian craftsmen build her palaces and gardens. Such excessiveness. Merchants from all over the world present her with goods from wines, silks and gemstones to exotic foods. Pineapple! That odd fruit with a disagreeably sour taste… She insists on having it at all her balls. It has to be imported by ship, all the way from tropical islands held by the English. Costs a lot too.

The worst of all has to be that French hussy who came with the French envoy. She's definitely some harlot with her brazen mannerisms. Decent women do not go about meeting the eyes of strange men. They do not travel without a husband, father or brother for miles. She bursts into the Russian court all dressed in her sluttish finery all the way from distant France. She claims the French king sent her, but I believe she is nothing but some tag-along mistress with the envoy. It is some nerve for the ambassador to trot his mistress out along with his staff, but you must take into account the lax morals of their people.

That woman was trouble, a witch. There is no other way about it. God preserve Russia.

Soon she had wormed her way into the affections and trust of Elizaveta – there, another sign of why frail women cannot be trusted to rule. If our Empress' tastes were extravagant to start with, after that hussy, they were positively sinful. Balls in which men dressed as women and women men! Such heathen pageantry! It's definitely against the Orthodox Church. The Empress showered her French pet with generous gifts. One might think she would be grateful enough to take up her offer to remain in Russia. Many pampered artisans have yielded to the Empress' wishes and remained to continue designing her palaces or painting her portraits. Instead the ingrate flits back home to France without so much as a by your leave.

Even when she has gone, her influence over the tsarita remained. Those preposterous reforms! The motherland is being ruined with all the tsarita's new plans… Alas, there is only one way for Russia to recover her lost prestige and glory. A man must come to the helm.

Pyotr III. Flushed with drink, he is busy strangling a rat in the corner as we discuss his future. He yelps as the creature sinks his teeth into his hand in its death agony. That woman he wed did bear him a son. With luck, Pyotr will drink himself to an early grave and allow his son to take the reins. His wife will have to be taken care of. A quiet convent should suit our purposes. We can't allow another woman to get ideas about ruling, even as Regent.

"Voronstov… must we work with them? Can those foreigners be trusted?" I question my associate in Russian as we walk down the stairs. The Italian is drunk and drowsing on a reclining couch in the sitting room. The woman is playing with her cards at the table while a bored-looking Frenchman is sitting by the piano, toying with the keys. I detest their presence here. Haven't we got enough foreigners in the city?

"We require their aid in our venture… Those four Frenchmen need taking care of…" Voronstov blusters. It was his fault the Frenchmen followed him from Paris! The king of France has set his dogs to interfere with us. They will not succeed.

The drunk and the woman do not even bother looking up at our entrance. The blond Frenchman gives us a cool apprising look before returning his attention to the fingers dancing over the ivories. How can such wretched creatures be of any use to our plans?

* * *

She is dead. Somehow, that pallid Frenchman has succeeded where we have failed. I suppose some foreigners do have their uses. The Empress is dead. One moment I was waiting transportation to frozen Siberia, the next I am a free man. I tread through the corridors of the Winter Palace, pleased to be restored to my rightful place as chancellor. Pyotr, the new tsar, presided over the funeral with as much dignity as possible for the likes of him. Of course it would have helped if he had wiped that idiotic grin off his face.

I pause. That witch's portrait is still here. The late Empress commissioned it. We should have it removed, no, burnt to ashes and tossed into the Neva… There is someone standing before de Beaumont's portrait. The blond Frenchman stands in silence and gazes upon her face. He reaches his hand out towards her almost tenderly, as if enthralled. There is no accounting for taste, I suppose. Sensing my presence, he turns and pulls his hand back as if caught in a guilty secret. He strides out of the door past me after dropping a polite greeting.

* * *

What happened? What went wrong? Ekaterina- that meek, nondescript wife of Pyotr's. How did she… And the Frenchmen… They should be dead! All's lost! We're all ruined.

In a blind panic I run through the dim-lit corridors of the palace. The brunette Frenchman is hot on my heels. I cannot escape…

"Help me…" I see the blond Frenchman, the Empress' assassin, standing before me… I dash towards him…

Surely he'd help…

**Author's Notes:**

And Maximilien kills him. :-) Ya, I managed to slip in a bit of Max-Lia tenderness.

The historical Bestuzhev was an advisor to Empress Elizaveta until he was dismissed, possibly for disagreeing with her one too many times.

Outtake 1 (ok, this is a rip off from Mulan)

Elizaveta: Bestuzhev, give Lia de Beaumont a place in my council…

Bestuzhev: Ah, but there are no vacancies.

Elizaveta: Very well, she can have your job.

Bestuzhev: !

Outtake 2, this time, it's Lia's portrait…

Elizaveta shows the 4 Musketeers Lia's portrait, then she shows them the other portrait of Lia, in the nude _a la Birth of Venus. _D'Eon faints from shock, Master Teillagory has a heart attack. Durand claps his hands over Robin's eyes and ogles the painting.


	26. De Guercy

Disclaimer: The characters of Le Chevalier D'Eon do not belong to me. May contain spoilers for the anime.

Emme, part of looking into the characters seeing how differently they view the same person. Understandably, the traditionalists like Voronstov and Bestuzhev will feel threatened with the reforms Lia urged Elizaveta to carry out. As for the outtake, if Max were present, he'd knock Durand out then ogle Lia himself.

It seems that Durand and the French ambassador to England have some past acquaintanceship. Here's my take.

**De Guercy: Roll of the Die**

_Success to each other and pass it along_

_Viva la compagnie _

The clock ticks painfully slowly as I seek solace in my wine. Espionage was never my strong suit. I lack the stomach for it. If it weren't for drink, I'd have lost my mind long ago. I should have taken the advice given to me by Durand two years ago in Marseilles when I was considering a diplomatic career…

* * *

"_A generous gift to Comte d'Avgin and you get posted to London as an ambassador?" my drinking companion chuckles and chokes on his tankard. _

"_You think I make a poor ambassador?" The perks of ambassadorial life beckon me. A generous living allowance, a spacious residence in the classiest district of London. Better still, I finally get out of the backwater I have languished in since that terrible faux pas I committed in Versailles involving a young lady Louis XV had his eye on. I am not going to be dissuaded by some down-on-his-luck knight like Sir Durand. _

"_No, no… but one might think you will be, how you say, conflicted. Your late mother was English…"_

"_Scottish," I interject but he takes little notice. _

"_And they ask you to spy on the English…" the shrewd wisdom gleams in Durand's dark eyes. "Give the offer some thought, mon ami. All the best in your new career, should you decide to take it. Better a live ass than a dead lion," he gives me an easy-going smile._

* * *

Durand came to me at the embassy in London. The first time with the Frenchmen I would later betray. They needed my aid to obtain some papers from the Secretary Robert Wood. I gave them that aid for a generous fee from Durand. Should I have acted the part of a loyal Frenchman and aided the four who claim to be on His Majesty's secret orders gratis? I do not have proof of the king's hand in this matter. Besides, I needed the money badly. The diplomatic allowance is nothing like what it was cracked up to be and I am greatly in debt.

I'm not cut out for this spying business. No doubt my master in Versailles despairs of the despatches I sent back. I really did my best…

Lord Sandwich, even His Majesty George III of England… I have been called on, offered bribes… I must betray both France and you, _mon ami._ There is no other way around it. _Better a live ass than a dead lion. _King Louis XV is in distant Versailles. What will happen to me if I refuse? I'd be whisked off to the Tower or some dank dungeon and I don't think His Majesty of France would care one whit about my fate. There are only a couple miles of salt water separating France and England, but it might as well as be an ocean. When in England, it's best to throw my lot in with the English. There's no future for me in France, is there, Durand? I'm stuck here until I retire or die. I do not wish to die in a prison…

I stare at the painting of Versailles before me. Durand admired that painting when he came the second time, alone and a fugitive. He had been maimed. I saw the empty coat sleeve flapping behind him as he moved about the room. He did not mention where his comrades have sought refuge. I envy his calmness, even in the direst situations. No wonder you are worthy of the Secret du Roi.

Blackmail. Never thought you would stoop to that, _mon ami._ But I guess things change. A maimed spy is of little use. Yet Robespierre, another French traitor, seems to think not.

Yet you turned your back on what must be your last chance. Robespierre was furious when you snubbed his offer. You chose to cling to your principles, your loyalty to your comrades and His Majesty…

Alas, principles are luxuries in these uncertain times. A toast, Durand. I gulp down one more glass of wine. You and your friends are probably dead now. There is no escape for you now that Lord Sandwich has set the redcoats on you. You gambled and lost, Durand. You know how the game is played. You played it often enough…

* * *

"_I'm upping the stakes…" Durand grins from across the card table. I panic, my cards aren't that good, but they are not too bad either._ _A king, two tens and an eight. Could he have more points than me? To match his stake or forfeit? Calmly, Durand doubled his stakes. Then he trebles them, the smile on his face never faltering. _

"_Forfeit…" I splutter. The other players decide to do the same, except for the Marquis Corbette, who was too stubborn to forfeit. Now was the time for reckoning. The two remaining players showed their hands. _

_The marquis' cards are a nine, a five, a seven and a two. His hand is even worse than mine. Durand lowers his cards. Two queens, a knave and an ace. His hand is worse than the one I had. Yet he wins the game to the demerit of the marquis' purse._

* * *

Morning. I lift my bleary eyes to the new day streaming through the embassy windows. I regard the empty wine bottles on my desk ruefully. I had fallen asleep at my desk, again.

_What was that crash?_ I try to rise.

_No! This cannot be!_ Redcoat soldiers barge into my study. _What is the meaning of this? _I open my mouth to protest, but only weak sounds come forth.

Two hold me at bayonet point as their fellows search my office. One feels the frame of the painting of Versailles, carefully searching with his fingertips. With a triumphant shout, he yanks out the damning papers. I'm under arrest for spying…

_What? How?_ It hits me then. Durand placing his hand on the picture as we chatted. The hint of a smile was dancing at the corners of his mouth. The die had been tossed then and Durand won.

_Checkmate, mon ami. _I can picture him grinning, as he skips town on some sloop.

I feel like an ass. _Better a live ass than a dead lion…_ I'm ruined. I'm soon to be a dead ass.

**Author's Notes:**

I'm not too familiar with card games played back then. In some card games, the king is the highest card. After the French revolution, the ace, previously the lowest card was changed to the highest card in some games to symbolise the rise of the lowest in society over the king.

Outtake: More painting jokes.

Durand and Maximilien are staring at the painting of Versailles.

Durand: Is this an original Monet or Wordsworth?

Maximilien: Wait, there is something in that corner. Looks like the artist's signature

The pair takes a closer look. The squiggle says – Made in China.


	27. Dashwood

Disclaimer: The characters of Le Chevalier D'Eon do not belong to me. May contain spoilers for the anime.

**Dashwood: Writ in Blood**

_The writing is on the wall… _

We are so close. King George is in our thrall. The royal Psalms, snatched from the very heart of Versailles, in our grasp. Then this…

Whitehead. My most loyal servant and poet. Dead. He was more than just a servant to me. He was my protégé, my son in all but blood and name… Dead! Snuffed out like a candle. Lia's work? You tell me it is the doing of that dead woman? Her restless spirit? Maximilien! You failed me! Why is that Frenchman you captured still alive? You could have killed him…

I fight to compose myself. Maximilien Robespierre is watching me stoically as I rage over Whitehead's corpse. His head had been crushed. Blood soaked the lining of the coffin and face-cloth over his face. That woman's spirit was a formidable opponent… Or…

I glance at Maximilien. His face does not betray any emotion. Secret du Roi. Louis XV's knights are a well-schooled lot indeed. Even that woman hardly betrayed any emotion during our acquaintance. He is still French, even if he is my most talented student. He had managed that risky journey to St Petersburg to draw the blood of the Tsaritsa Elizaveta herself, even with the help of that Russian spy and his bumbling companions…

"Maximilien Robespierre…"

He steps forward at my command. "You failed, Maximilien. Atone for your sins… by drawing the blood of those four Frenchmen… Kill them…" _One of them serves as the vessel for Lia's soul_, I had been forewarned. My student betrays no emotion at my order. He acknowledges my order with a polite nod and waits to be dismissed.

His silence disturbs me more than any spoken protest. "Remember, Robespierre. I hold far greater power than you… The student can never hope to outshine his master…" I drop a veiled threat. He does not respond to my words. With a wearied wave of my hand, I dismiss him.

It is written on the wall. That man will stand against me. And I will make him pay dearly for it.

* * *

You put up a brave fight, Robespierre. But your powers are no match for me. It is almost a pity. A talent like yours is hard to come by…

I gasp for breath, drawing the much-needed air into my wearied lungs. The discarded Book of Psalms lies on the floor-stones of the grand hall as the dust clears. The two Italians were hunched over his corpse. The woman weeping as her plump companion held onto her. He had not let go of her since the battle started.

He lies in a crumpled heap, blood pouring from his mouth and nose. His sightless blue eyes stare up at the ceiling. He is dead. All life has fled from the broken body before me. Blood stained the stones copiously, and the Book. I am pleased to see the blood splattered on the cover melt and vanish as if drawn into the Book itself.

Yes, it is the blood of the cream of royalty and elite poets the Book of Psalms demanded in exchange for power. Now with Robespierre's demise, that power is mine to command. A new era will dawn for us, not only in England but in France and beyond. I feel years younger just thinking of the future that awaits the Brethren.

There is one more thing to do. I return my attention to the Italians. "Go inform the Count, you two… and get _him_ out of here…" I nod at the corpse. The woman glares at me as if she wishes to challenge me. Then she backs down, clearly thinking the better of it. The man gibbers and clutches at her arm but she shakes him off.

One of the senior monks, Brother Spencer, I believe, gives the order for a casket to be brought in. Yes, hurry up and get the little traitor out of my sight. He has no use to us now that we have drawn his blood and put it into the Royal Psalms.

The brother monks dump him into the casket with as much ceremony as one might treat a dead dog. Only the weeping woman pauses to arrange his limbs in some attitude of decorum and cover his face with her handkerchief before the monks carried him off. The Italians follow them closely. There is a small charnel house on the abbey grounds. He can rest there for all eternity.

Robespierre has been taken care of. Now the only obstacles to our plans are the Frenchmen, and Lia de Beaumont's troubled soul.

News reaches me. The Frenchmen, and the tormented soul of Lia de Beaumont, are approaching. They had carved a path of blood as they closed in. There's little time to waste. Lia de Beaumont's soul must be received accordingly and sent to where she should have flown to upon her death… She was in love with Robespierre. She must have felt his passing keenly. In her current state, she'll be no match for us…

* * *

I have trapped Lia's soul in this illusionary world… She is weak and no match- What is all this? What happened? Maximilien Robespierre! How did you get here? He lives.

I have lost control of my illusion. Maximilien points to the dreadful machine that looms over the disembodied wigs and scattered trappings of the aristocracy.

_Help, Lord; for the godly man ceaseth;_

_for the faithful fail from among the children of men._

_The wicked walk on every side,_

_While the vilest men are exalted._

Blood. The ground is soaked with blood. No! Lia has sensed his presence and she responds readily, throwing both her will and power into his poems. Their voices resound and the Psalms resonate. I'm overwhelmed by the vision they conjure up. The horror, and yet the promise… The apprentices have outshone their master. I'm lost. I know it then in that moment, it is over…

**Author's Notes:**

Okay that was some crazy ride through Dashwood's mind. That man is downright creepy in the anime.

Outtake:

Maximilien and Lia/D'Eon dragging Dashwood over to the guillotine.

Dashwood: Wait! This isn't in the script!

Maximilien: Well, this is an outtake, so anything goes…


	28. Robert Wood

Disclaimer: The characters of Le Chevalier D'Eon do not belong to me. May contain spoilers for the anime.

Dressed up as Lia, D'Eon did one lousy job of distracting Robert Wood, Undersecretary. Or did he? An ironic look on Robert Wood's thoughts on the French girl he met.

**Robert Wood: A Fine Gander**

_Goose-a goose-a gander,  
__Where shall I wander?  
__Up stairs and down stairs,  
__In my lady's chamber;  
__There you'll find a cup of sack  
__And a race of ginger._

"You imbecile!" His Lordship growls dangerously as he all but flings the papers in my face. "How could you leave them unattended? Busy ogling some French bitch, dog?" The Earl of Sandwich was furious and with good reason. I grovel and beg for forgiveness. The Earl's master will be displeased for sure. I thought the letters were safe with the poems on them. Surely no harm could come from an evening of entertainment with the French. Count de Guercy is always known for throwing lavish dinner parties at the embassy.

To be honest, the dinner party was a lot more modest that I would have expected. The lady's presence probably accounted for that. Normally, de Guercy would have hired the services of a good half-dozen courtesans for his guests. But what a beauty that little Mademoiselle was. She can't possibly be too high-born. Her hands were too rough, nothing like the rose-petal soft hands of the girls from Madam Palmer's. Was she some relation of that old sword-master Teillagory? She didn't wear gloves unlike the English gentry misses. I glance at my hand where she had touched me fleetingly. That warmth, her charming coyness…

My look of distraction earns me yet another harsh rebuke from my master.

"Wood, if you would stop thinking with what's in your breeches and use whatever brains you have, we would not have to trouble His Royal Majesty to visit de Guercy to convince him to work for us!" That was a bit unfair. I went for the chance of meeting a real master of the sword as well as the promise of feminine companionship.

Count de Guercy was a weak man, easily swayed. The earl had caught onto that when we first met him. Easy prey. He likes gambling at cards and throwing parties. It was no difficult feat to get him indebted to various English lords, including Sandwich. I introduced the ambassador to the charms of the local courtesans. We had a jolly good time together… My master orders me out of his office.

* * *

Wine. I need it. I pour myself a glass in that modest apartment I call my home in London. When had they removed the letters? I run through the events of the dinner. Had I drank too much wine, urged by de Guercy and the French guests? I recall Teillagory, blindfolded, fencing with two, or was it three, of the embassy servants. I had applauded his skill. Did the junior clerk leave the room then? It is a blur now.

I swirl the wine in my glass and watch the light dancing through the red liquid.

Mademoiselle Lia. Somehow her icy aloofness appeals to me. I smile at what delights her too-modest dress must hide. I'm too used to dipping collars and slipping bosoms courtesy of my lady friends. A collar all the way to the neck indeed. She's tall for a woman. Probably wore heels. My heart beats a little faster as I imagine her slim legs under those heavy skirts, so close to mine under the tablecloth. Perhaps I should have taken my chances to reach over then and…

No, that was probably not a good idea. What if she's one of those proper misses who would scream the house down? Then the old knight might find himself obliged to avenge her honour by running me through. Thankfully, I did not act on my lust. Perhaps she fancied me too? I recall her hand on mine, that coy smile. Her finger playing with the spilled wine. All that talk about poems… Surely she was flirting with me. I am after all a remarkably handsome man. Was she quoting the Scripture? Well, if she was, I would love to have her as naked as Eve before me and I'd show her some Original Sin…

How many glasses of wine had I? The bottle seems empty…

No, it wasn't. I upended the bottle and emptied the remaining contents on myself, missing the glass entirely. I swore. Wine stains will never wash out of my shirt, or the carpet.

The warrant is out for the arrest of the Frenchmen. Oddly, no mention was made of the woman in their company. Who is she, French or English? Where did she hail from? Was she some high-class courtesan they hired for their purposes or… I'd love to have a piece like her squirrelled away in my rooms… No, too risky, perhaps in Brunswick Lane where the gentry hide their kept women.

* * *

"_Robert…" her voice trembles with desire as she sprawls on the silken sheets before me. Her rosebud lips pouted deliciously as she runs a hand through her tousled blond hair. She is totally naked and her breasts are like creamy peaches. Her skin is like pale porcelain and soft as silk. She wants me as much as I burn with feral lust for her perfect body. Hurriedly, I tear off my garments so that I may claim her as my own. Eagerly, I leap on top of her as she squeals with delight. _

Crack! The pain jolts me awake. I am sitting in a heap on the hardwood floor beside my empty bed, nursing a lump the size of a hen's egg on my head. It is the fifth such dream this week. Grumbling, I get to my feet. The matter of the Frenchmen has been settled. I am lucky I have been spared the punishment meted out to the more senior members in the debacle. A demotion was liveable, but the dreams! I'm tormented by that illusion that has since vanished like the night-mist at dawn.

That settles it. I hear Madame Venus' has a crop of six beauties fresh out from France. Perhaps I should pay them a visit. Perhaps there'll be some obliging blond lass with rosebud lips among them willing to render me her services…

**Author's Notes:**

I made him out to be a real lecher here. ;-) Of course it will be really awkward for D'Eon if any under the table groping happened at dinner. All the flirting was done by Lia. D'Eon is too uptight to flirt, even with girls.

Outtake:

A desperate Robert Wood is peeping at the upstairs window on 'Lia' as 'she' changes her clothes. D'Eon, with his back to the window, removes his make-up, then dress… Robert Wood drools and strains for a better view. D'Eon removes the corset and other feminine undergarments, save his underpants, then turns his attention to the window to find out what the panting noise is. Both men look at each other in shock. D'Eon reacts by opening the window so that he knocks Robert Wood off his perch and into a thorn bush below. To finish, Lia takes over from D'Eon and drops a flower pot on top of Robert Wood's skull.


	29. Pyotr III

Disclaimer: The characters of Le Chevalier D'Eon do not belong to me. May contain spoilers for the anime.

This is definitely the POV of a spoilt brat.

**Pyotr III: All the Tsar's Men**

_Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall_

_Humpty Dumpty had a great fall_

"Wait! You can't do this to me! I'm tsar!"

The guards are merciless. I am dragged kicking and screaming from my throne, past that woman and the stony-faced ministers. When did it all go wrong? I am tsar of Russia! Always meant to be…

They said I'd be tsar someday ever since as far back as I can recall. My parents died when I was too young to remember. I don't like the stuffy and strict tutors my aunt assigned to teach me. I hated the wife she chose for me. Ekaterina is so plain and all she ever does is cry and whine. So what if she's some German princess? I've seen prettier servant girls. My aunt should never have been Empress. Surely my grandfather would have passed the throne to my father had he lived. Surely I would have inherited…

* * *

Yes, Aunt Elizaveta said that I must learn my lessons well so that I may be a worthy heir someday. _Some day?_ I want to be tsar now. I want to play with a real army and fight real battles instead of pretend battles with toy soldiers… She looks at me sternly and tells me that I am still too young and have much to learn.

Why must I do things I don't like? I am going to be tsar. I refused to read those boring books. They can't make me ride a horse. I also don't like horses. They are big and smell. I am going to be tsar! I'm going to have a carriage pulled by twenty horses, all decked out with gemstones like my aunt's tiara. My aunt asked me some questions about those books and I cannot answer her. So I'm punished by being sent to bed early while my aunt entertains her visitors in the grand ballroom downstairs. I stare at the fancy suit I was to wear. It is still hanging in closet. My aunt is only acting as tsaritsa, so they say. When I grow up, I will be tsar, then I will have her sent off to a convent somewhere in Siberia.

There is a rat caught in a trap under the bed. The whiskered face reminds me of that stuffy tutor. It is still alive and drags its mangled hind feet. It disgusts me like that tutor. Wait, maybe I will have some fun with it first. The rat squeals as I wind a string around its neck, slowly tightening it. It struggles and manages to nip my finger before it finally dies.

* * *

Ekaterina is as plain as they come, no, worse than plain. She has a face like a horse and all she ever does is weep and whine. So what if I knock her about a bit when I'm drinking? A man is the master of his own house. I should have been master of all Russia. What happened? I am not a little boy but all everyone at court says is: "Empress Elizaveta". Have they forgotten me? My aunt is just standing in for me until I'm a man and I am a man now. It's time for her to hand over the throne to me.

I take another swig from my bottle and admire the dried out rats hanging from the ceiling. The woman hates them. She is repulsed by the idea of those vermin hanging over her bed as she sleeps. All the better. She can sleep in the hall for all I care. Then I can use our bed to entertain some feisty ladies from the brothel down the street. The bed used to belong to my grandparents. Not many women can boast of sleeping in a bed once used by the tsar. It was a wedding gift from my aunt to bless us with children. It worked. Months of looking at the woman as fat as a cow, then that screaming bundle I am definitely not allowing anywhere near me. Thank goodness my aunt placed the brat with a cousin. One whining wife under this roof is more than I can take.

Perhaps I should take down the rats before extending an invitation to the girls. They would make great mementos for them.

They tell me that if my aunt dies, I will be tsar. I can divorce that woman and marry whoever I want. Maybe I will marry Domnika from the brothel, and her sister Marsha. Of course I can marry them both. Tsars can do anything. Oh, maybe that pretty young countess I saw at the party. I will have her leave her husband and children, a waste of her beauty being a mother to some brats… I will have a good old-fashioned battle with Sweden and maybe Turkey, like my grandfather did when he was tsar…

* * *

She is dead. My aunt Elizaveta is dead. I grin as the service droned on. _Why is everyone looking so sad?_ They should be happy I am now tsar. _Why are some of them actually crying? Why?_ She's just some ugly old woman. Out with the old and in with the new I say. Starting with my wife. What's this? Matters of state? Treaties with the Lower Countries? Who are all these ambassadors or whatever? I am not interested in meeting them. Oh, tell the Prince what's his name of Denmark that his face looks like cow's rear end. Tell them to get out of here. Oi, you there! General Buck-tooth or whatever your name is, I want you to get me a bottle of the finest cognac from the cellar and the prettiest tarts from the pleasure house at Maksim Square…

What? Sunday Mass at eight o'clock? I don't want to attend church so early. Tell the archbishop to hold their Masses later, three o'clock… Or better cancel them altogether. I'm tsar! I don't need to attend church and listen to some toothless old man drone… Have them cancel the Mass or I send the priest to Siberia. Of course I can do that. I am tsar. Look, if I want to, I'd take off my shoe and see if I can hit the fancy coffin from over… No, I am not drunk! Unhand me, I am tsar… Wait, maybe I had too much caviar… Ugh!

That old man is helping me out of the church.

* * *

Where's that old man now? I want him to get me out of this mess! It was his fault! The whole thing was his idea! Wait! You can't do this to me! You can't hang me like some rat!

The guards drag me up the scaffold. That woman is there watching calmly. A black hood is slipped over my head… No, you can't! I am the tsar… I am ts…

_All the king's horses and all the king's men_

_Couldn't put Humpty together again._

**Author's Notes:**

Last insight from Russia. Obviously, Pyotr did himself no favours with his behaviour. I am running out of characters here. Perhaps I should start a new piece on the main characters.

Outtake:

Russian court: Let us vote for the next tsar. The candidates are Pyotr and Ekaterina.

Vote results: 100% in favour of Ekaterina and 100% in favour of hanging Pyotr.


	30. Caron

Disclaimer: The characters of Le Chevalier D'Eon do not belong to me. May contain spoilers for the anime.

This is an insight into the poet-servant of Saint-Germaine, Lia fought with. He dies cursing the nobles for ignoring the plight of the poor and promising a change in France.

**Caron: A Dark Harbinger **

_Let loose the dogs of war_

I was cold, hungry… a barefoot beggar-child when he first found me. My master. The Revolutionary Order. I must keep my silence. The brunette regards me sternly. The old man leans back against the wall. The other two, one a mere child, had retreated outside.

"He will not talk…" There is an edge of frustration in my tormentor's voice. He cannot break me. I will not betray my master. I've been beaten, kicked and burned before. You can't make me talk. This pain is nothing. He'll have to either kill me here or hand me over to the authorities for further questioning. The duke will interfere and…

"Is this torture necessary?" the blond man has returned to the room. I hear his voice. I cannot see him for the blood and sweat running into my eyes. I must beware him. He is more of a threat to us than he himself knows. That woman's soul…

There is some discussion but the words are too low for me to catch them. A pity. My master would be pleased if I could…

"Let him go… but first…"

The pain is clean and sharp, expertly delivered, first my right leg and then my left. There was no time to gasp from the pain. No, I will not give them the satisfaction of that. The ropes binding me fall away. I lift an arm tentatively. _Were they freeing me? _I wipe the sweat and blood from my face.

"You are free to go," the brunette purrs as he cleans his sword. The ache in my heels has dulled to a steady throb. I try to move my feet to stand. Something is amiss. My feet drag flatly on the flagstone floor, refusing to obey me. The bastard has severed the tendons. I almost stumble.

"He'd never walk again," a child's voice stated solemnly. A stray shaft of moonlight cutting into the gloom of my prison allows me see his face. He was a young lad with a pale face, most likely some lackey-page. Everyone knows about the nobles and their little pets. His eyes are large and dark.

I'm going to prove the boy wrong. I force myself to stand. With shambling, clumsy steps, I make my way to the door, which is open. The steps take some effort. I feel the four pairs of eyes watching me leave. They do not follow or stop me.

The journey back to the mansion is pure agony. The sharp stones slice up my bare feet. The cold night air does little to ease the fevered pain of my injuries. My throat is parched. Often I have to stop and lean against some alley wall to catch my breath and regain my strength.

* * *

I burn with the indignity of it. The suspicions that I would betray them… Whipped like a dog. I wince at the touch of the coarse linen shirt on my raw wounds. It was all the duke's doing. He…

It was just as well the mansion burned. A pity those meddling knights did not perish in the conflagration which ensued.

"You should be thankful you were not left to roast," that Italian buffoon remarked earlier when I limped through the hall. My master would never have let me die, but if he called for it, I will gladly give my life. It was a disastrous oversight on my part. If I had not been so eager, or been more careful, would they have found my master?

Perhaps I deserved that whipping. I have failed the comte. The master has a new favourite poet now, a silent blond man. I do not know much about him or those Italians. My master no longer tells me as much as he used to. I'm no longer privy to his plans. Often he would order me to leave him and the duke so that they may discuss their plans without me. Something has changed. I do not like it one bit.

* * *

"_Caron, come here…" My master beckons me to join him on the park bench. It has been two years such he first took me in. I have grown used to wearing proper clothes and was learning to read and write at the local school. "Poems. There is power in them. You have a talent, Caron. You can help us make France better. No more hungry children begging in the streets."_

"_How?" I asked then. He showed me how. He gave me a purpose. When other boys gambolled in the sun, I toiled at my lessons indoors, late into the night. All to be a poet for his sake._

* * *

"You trust him, don't you?" the blond questions me. He is grieving over his woman's death still. He waves an arm wearily over the corpses of the women. "These women were taken from the streets of Paris… and you turned them into gargoyles… Like you they came from humble background." Of course they had to be from the lower rungs of society, they would not be so readily missed. If you want to be fair, at least two of them were high-class courtesans patronized by noblemen. Their disappearance has caused ripples in society.

"He has you deal with the secret police. Louis will not stop his investigation so easily. He knows there'll be a price to pay killing the king's representatives. You're not indispensable to him," he adds before spinning on his heel and strolling out. I hate Maximilien Robespierre for sowing that first seed of doubt.

* * *

_He allowed you to be whipped like a dog_, a voice chides. _He means to sacrifice you if anything goes wrong in Paris. _I stifle it in the back of my mind. He has given me so much power to achieve his ends. Yet I do not know what his plans are exactly. The women I've turned into gargoyles… I close eyes and force the images of those shambling monstrosities away. There is more uneasiness in the city. The secret police persecuted anyone suspected of harbouring treasonous thoughts. We've solved that first problem. But now…

Lia de Beaumont. It is her that I am fighting now, not her weak brother. Her ability as a poet, even when dead, far exceeds mine. She defends against my poems with ease and attacks with both her sword and poems. I cannot hope to win…

This time I know my master and the duke have abandoned me. I am alone… My loyalty thrown in my face and mocked. I'll be captured and tortured into talking… I scream as the blade slices through my wrist like a knife through butter. With my crippled legs, I cannot flee. It is over. There is only one way to end this. With my dying breath, I curse the nobles, and this time, I include my master among them.

**Author's Notes:**

Caron reminds me a bit of a clerk. He is so pale and the clothes are like those of a clerk. Definitely not a soldier-type in the typical sense.

Outtake:

D'Eon: I do not approve of torture…

Lia: Let's see. Shall we take off a foot this time? Or an ear?

Caron: Hurry up and kill me already!


	31. Lord Sandwich

Disclaimer: The characters of Le Chevalier D'Eon do not belong to me. May contain spoilers for the anime.

I am not certain of Lord Sandwich's character. He is like the second fiddle to Dashwood but he doesn't seem to have any powers of the poems. He was a confidant to King George III but we really don't know what happened to him after George abdicated.

**Lord Sandwich: Another Gentleman**

"Wait, you can't be serious… Your Majesty." _Please, don't do this to me…_

"Oh, drop the titles, John. I'm no longer king…" Without a backwards glance, his former majesty, George III of Hanover strolls off to his carriage, which will soon be whisking him and his wife off to their country estate in Dover.

Dashwood's dead. The Hellfire Club has been disbanded. The power of the poets in England is smashed. After witnessing Sir Francis' demise at the hands of the Frenchman, few poets have the will to continue. At court, Duke William of Wellington will be stepping in as regent to young George IV. He has a grudge against me since that incident with his young goddaughter, and can that man nurse a grudge.

* * *

I'm ruined. All the years of toil and planning… Earl of Sandwich, Secretary of State, confidante of the king, the co-founder of the Hellfire Club, member of the Revolutionary Order… Now I can only watch all that slip away.

The others have gone to ground, retreated into their obscure estates in distant corners of the kingdom. Many have made plans to flee England for the New World for fear George might make a move against them. I know better. George will not take any action against us. He is happy enough to live out the rest of his years with his wife, or perhaps it should be wives, Mary and Charlotte. We are safe. The New World is a land of opportunity, wild and untamed. If you have the guts to risk it all…

I don't. I am a coward. I lack the power Dashwood wielded. I cannot hope to revive the Hellfire Club here or abroad. I do not know if Saint-Germaine can be trusted. It was Maximilien and Lia who did Dashwood in, both introduced by the Comte.

I wander into a pub and order a tankard. One last drink before I sink into society obscurity and depression, most likely ending with a self-inflicted bullet to the temple. I'll be blacklisted from the clubs in London, forced back to my ancestral seat in the country. My only notable neighbours in the country are an old widow of Puritan bent and a senile churchman, no fit company for dinner or cards. The rest are tenant farmers not worth considering.

"Sandwich?" a voice calls out softly. I turn. It is one of the poets I knew from sight from the abbey.

"What will you do, revive the club?" There is a hint of hopefulness in his voice. I shake my head. "Thought not." The poet hopped onto the bar stool next to mine. He orders a cup of coffee, much to the barkeeper's disdain. "Don't get me wrong, sir. But I figured none of us can come close to Sir Dashwood or Brother Whitehead's abilities. Considered a business venture before?"

"Business? As in trade?"

"Well, you can say that… but not really. How about we set up a club for gentlemen to meet up and talk business, play cards…" I must have frowned. Wood had proposed such a club for the brothers of the abbey once, which I promptly shot down. His proposal involved a stable of frisky trollops to wait on the members and I'm sure the sisters of the abbey would take offence.

"Of course it will be gentlemen only. No courtesans or anything so crass. No ladies allowed… well, perhaps we should allow the wives and sisters to visit in a separate room, as guests…" Fine, it sounds a decent enough proposal. Running a gentleman's club in the city will beat having to spend the rest of my days moping about in my country manor. Hunting, gardening and other country pursuits never appealed to me. I am ruined politically but perhaps I might be able to redeem myself in society. Few knew the true reason behind my forced resignation. George III would not tell. Most of those who knew or guess at it will be in the New World soon.

"We can call it the Liberty Lodge, do it up nicely… nice fireplace, port after dinner, poetry discussions, real ones, not Psalms or those sorts. We can also invite other gentlemen to join us… Consider it a joint venture, milord…" my companion chuckles and sips at his coffee. He pulls a face at the horrid taste and chucks the reminder out the window. Literature is all the rage now, plays and novels are being churned out by the dozen by the printers. Any society member can be expected to provide a brief critique of the latest fashionable play.

I have been given a lifeline. I can spare some funds to get a place. The abbey is out of the question. It belongs to Dashwood's nephew now, an obese simpleton with a fondness for hunting foxes. He might be persuaded to sell… No, my companion says. The abbey lacks the cosy atmosphere conducive to a society club. A decent-sized townhouse in the heart of the London offering a view of the Thames will fit the bill. The current owner intends to move to Italy and is willing to sell it cheaply. Before I know it, we are shaking hands and stepping out into the streets like old friends.

I realise that I had not asked his name. I do so now.

"William Wordsworth, poet by profession…" he smiles. He is much younger than I expected. "Did you read my recent work, _Reflections on a Mirror_?"

I laugh and he laughs along with me. I never thought I will end up running a club with a young poet. I add one more condition.

"Promise me one more thing."

"What might that be?"

"I get a favourite seat at the card table every night."

"Deal."

**Author's Notes: **

I hope this sounds reasonable having Lord Sandwich switch from his political career to running a gentleman's club. Sir William Wordsworth is the name of an actual Romantic era poet. However, I have taken some liberties in having him in the mid-18th century and a member of the defunct Hellfire Club. Most of the Romantic poets are in the late 18th or early 19th century. An actual member of the Hellfire Club was said to be Benjamin Franklin (one of the American founding fathers) but then again, that is mainly hearsay. I've already given Ben Franklin a cameo in an earlier chapter and I don't see a need to include him in one here.

The historical Lord Sandwich was also said to be the creator of the sandwich as he was an avid card-player who had little time for a proper plate and cutlery dinner.

Outtake:

Sandwich: George, you can't just leave me like this!

George: Yes, what was I thinking. Guards, arrest this man and throw him in the Tower for conspiracy...

Sandwich runs off to catch the next ship to Jamaica.


	32. Praslin

Disclaimer: The characters of Le Chevalier D'Eon do not belong to me. May contain spoilers for the anime.

Praslin is another character that is so minor a role that he almost disappears into the woodwork at Versailles. This is probably the last chapter of this series as I believe I've covered everyone. I will be continuing writing for this fandom under _Minuet_. Mostly fluffy interactions between the main characters.

Lord Sandwich got off easy for his involvement in the Revolutionary Brethren. What about the situation on the other side of the Channel?

**Praslin: Unfortunate Events**

I am ruined. How did it all fall apart? The Duke of Orleans captured and imprisoned like some common criminal. The charges? Treason against the throne, fomenting dissent against Louis XV the Blessed…

Then the Queen, Her Majesty, was found poisoned. The young girl attending her foully murdered. Was this the doing of the Brethren? I do not know. Not only had the Queen been murdered, but His Majesty's favourite mistress, the Marquise de Pompadour, too. She was found dead in her chambers. No grand funeral for her. A hasty interment in the crypt of a nearby church sufficed. Broglie hushed the matter up the best he could but there'll always be whispers in the vaulted corridors of Versailles. He did require footmen to move the coffin and a hearse to move her away.

The king has been taken ill. The whispers speak of some disease or possible poison. The court physicians are at their wits' end with his condition. Louis XV might not live long. The motherless dauphin would be ushered towards the throne under Broglie's guidance.

If there is one thing about Broglie, he is the epitome of loyalty. He served Louis XIV as a young knight and served his successor since the day Louis XV first wore the crown of France. The Duke of Orleans' rebellion was squashed no doubt to Broglie's doing. But the Brethren had apparently struck at the very heart of the royal family, behind the walls of Versailles. Broglie would not forgive this easily and someone will pay. Suddenly my post at court seems precarious.

The Marquise was my patron and protector within Versailles. Now she is gone…

There will be a purge within the court. Broglie will prepare the way for young Auguste to take the throne by removing all perceived threats against him. Louis XV lingers on his sickbed and it will only be a matter of time before he is called home to the Lord. The Comte de Saint-Germaine has vanished, as have his lackeys. Perhaps they had long fled France.

Perhaps I will be stripped of my rank and titles and cast out penniless. Or I will be exiled from France… Or… I shudder as the dark image of the Bastille loomed up before my mind's eye.

I must flee Versailles, France… I have packed whatever valuables I can carry on my person and ordered a servant to ready a horse. I must leave for Calais before sun-up.

This is insane! I've not ridden a horse since I was a child. I always go by coach…

What's taking my man so long? I peer out of the window for the umpteenth time. The modest mansion I rent is sited within walking distance of the main town centre of the town of Versailles. At this late hour, most of the houses are in darkness. The moon has sailed behind a cloud. The garden and walk are in darkness. Surely…

The moon sails out from behind the clouds. My heart drops to my shoes when I see them. Several French soldiers. No doubt here on Broglie's orders.

Here comes the dreaded knock on the door.

"Open up, Monsieur Praslin! Open up in the name of His Majesty Louis XV…"

The shadow of the Bastille looms over me. Blind panic muddles my mind. I cannot move, I cannot speak or cry out.

Receiving no answer, the soldiers force the door with a resounding crash.

As I stand frozen with fear, the first of the soldiers reach me. With them is my worthless manservant, twisting and wringing his hands in a paroxysm of apologetic guilt. The leader of the soldiers asks him a question. The man replies in an affirmative. The soldiers seize me by the shoulders.

"Monsieur Praslin. We hereby arrest you on suspicions of abetting and aiding the Duke of Orleans in an act of high treason…"

The Bastille awaits.

**Author's Notes: **

That is the last of this series for me. Unlikely I will be revisiting this fic.

Outtake:

Pompadour: Praslin! Where are you? (looking around)

Praslin: Milady, I'm here at your service.

Pompadour: Oh, I'm not calling you… I'm looking for my lap-dog… (hears yapping) Ah, there you are! Come to mama, you naughty boy….

Pompadour picks up a yappy little lap-dog from under the table.


End file.
